Children of Time, Ep 1: Smith and Holmes
by Wholmes Productions
Summary: Two men: one human, one alien. Both alone in exile, yet not alone. Both geniuses, yet blind to what they'd had until it was stripped away. Both capable of the highest acts of mercy... and the deepest cruelties. Their paths are about to cross in a remote village, long ago and far away... And the universe will never be the same again. First episode in a crossover series.
1. Prologue: The Detective

**Introduction:**

When Sky suggested doing a Wholmes crossover fic (yes, folks, this is all her fault!), I was thrilled to bits. I mean, seriously, which of us Doctor/Detective devotees hasn't fantasised about those two meeting and working together?

Since Holmes is a busy man, we figured if he was going to meet the Doctor anywhere without Watson noticing, it would probably have to be while on his Great Hiatus. We decided on the Tenth Doctor (played by the _brilliant_ David Tennant), set just after 'The Runaway Bride'. The reasons for this will become clearer in the story itself. But what effect will that have on the Fate of the Universe? Stay tuned to find out…

—_Riandra_

**Disclaimers:** Sherlock Holmes & Co. are public domain. _Doctor Who_ is property of the BBC. And we regret nothing.

* * *

**==Prologue==**  
**The Detective**

_Life is infinitely stranger than anything which the mind of man could invent._

In what I will call a long and varied experience, I had never before had such a case. The evil powers behind it all were remarkable enough, as was the history of the long war with these creatures of the night. But what truly made this case special was that I shared it with a man whom I considered it a privilege to meet—to say nothing of actually _working_ with him!

Brilliant mind, that one—one of the brightest minds mankind will ever produce, really. You have heard of him, of course. Everyone has.

Sherlock Holmes.

What is different about this particular case of the Great Detective is that it took place during his Great Hiatus, when he was in Tibet.

And he worked with me.

Which meant that the experience well and truly broadened his horizons. I think it is safe to say that our wonderful, incorrigible Sherlock Holmes will never be the same again. But that is a good thing, believe me.

After all, there _are_ more things in heaven and earth…

* * *

He was running. He'd been running harder than ever now, terrified of what would happen if he ever paused, just for one moment.

That moment came when the TARDIS decided to switch directions on him. Not that he'd been going anywhere purposefully, but it was the _principle _of the thing! Especially when she landed him on his back on the floor.

"Whoa, whoa, what was that?" He clambered to his feet and grabbed the console. "Steady on, old giiiiirl!" The TARDIS landed with a hard thump, nearly jolting the Doctor back to the floor. He exhaled explosively, a frown and a grimace warring on his features.

"Owww." It wasn't as if he was getting any younger, although his own appearance could seriously have fooled him… "Now, what was that all about? Would it short out your circuitry to warn me before taking a detour?" He pulled over the monitor, murmuring, "Where are we this time, anyway…"

His thoughtful frown broke out into a grin. "Tibet! Oh, brilliant! I've always wanted to meet the Dalai Lama. Who's a clever girl?" He patted the console affectionately and was rewarded with a sound almost like a purr from his lovely lady. He grinned even wider and headed for the door. "Don't wait up, sweetheart!"

Outside his front door was the most perfect panorama. The heavens curved over the ghostly Himalayan peaks, the night-scape deeper and blacker than it would be at a much lower altitude. The stars were impossibly clear and bright and vast. It was one of the best night skies the Doctor had ever seen on Earth. Over nine hundred years, and it was right here, waiting for him in 1893.

_Speaking of 1893_… He tore his gaze away from the sky and down to earth. Lovely little mountain village, snow-covered houses and all. Very quiet and peaceful.

Almost _too _quiet and peaceful.

_Never fails. I honestly _try_ to be a tourist and all I get are Busman's Holidays_… Nothing else for it, though. The Doctor straightened his shoulders and strode over to the nearest lit house, rapping purposefully on the door. The only response he received were human sounds of fear, scuffling, thumping, and the extinguishing of the light sources.

He raised an eyebrow in wry surprise. "Ah, that's new," he admitted aloud, not caring if he looked ridiculous in doing so. Nobody around to see him, anyway. "People usually wait to panic until _after _they find out who I am." He smoothed his hair back and opened his mouth to call out to the family inside—he was certain he'd heard children—when he heard an all-too-familiar commotion.

The kind that comes with a savage beast on the loose and some poor soul caught in its sights. Bestial howl, snarls, growling, giant footsteps, crashing, splintering wood… you name it.

"Think I just found me the problem," the Doctor muttered, taking off towards the noise. _Take a left up ahead_…

He just barely skidded to a halt and ducked in time as a long, dark form went flying out of that 'street', barely missing him. The form was a man, a man who hit the nearest wall with a sickening thud and dropped limply to the ground. The poor thing was in a very bad way, bleeding from gashes all over.

The Doctor turned to see a huge, apelike form charging towards the living rag doll. The creature sported thick, silver fur; a long, wolf-like snout; bared fangs; and claws streaked with blood.

"Oi! What are you doing?!" The Doctor stepped directly into the path of the thing and glared. "Back off!" The creature came up short at the order but did not turn away. "You heard me—leave him be! _Homo sapiens_, OFF the menu!"

The Yeti-ish thing sniffed at the air, obviously confused by the Doctor's non-human scent but not so much that it looked as if it would back down. It started to edge forward.

The Doctor's dark eyes narrowed. "Ohhh, you reeeally don't want to try that with me…" He took one slow, deliberate stride forward, putting the full force of a good millennium into his gaze. It seemed to work: the creature hesitated, apparently realising that this person was not someone to be trifled with.

It was in that moment of vulnerability that the Doctor caught a glimpse of the creature's eyes in the dim light. The Doctor's own eyes softened to compassion and horror. "Oh," he breathed. "Oh, I'm sorry."

The spell broke when he blinked.

His antagonist snarled defiantly but contented itself with a menacing glare at human and Time Lord before turning and loping swiftly away.

The Doctor watched it go, feeling his chest ache. Over nine hundred years, and he'd never, ever gotten used to this… A faint groan from behind reminded him of what he ought to be doing. He knelt in the snow beside the unconscious man and carefully checked him over. The usual cuts and bruises… sickeningly large slashes in the torso… gash on the back of the head. The man was lucky to be alive.

In height and build, he looked to be the same as the Doctor. Definitely a runner's build. Blond hair, pale skin, sharp features, dark circles under the closed eyes…

Feeling an uncomfortable niggling at the back of his mind, the Doctor pulled back the eyelids to check the pupils—

—and froze as that niggling burst into crystalline realisation.

_Two young men shaking hands in a lab, both thin, one quite brown and the other oh-so-white. Boys, really, the younger smiling and observing that the elder had been in Afghanistan…_

_An enormous, glowing hound charging through the mist…_

_A sweet-faced, golden-haired girl holding a wooden box and seeking the truth about her father…_

_A hissing adder, coiled around its latest victim, its own master…_

_A magnificent black pearl at the epicenter of an explosion of ceramic…_

_A slip of paper bearing a parade of dancing stick figures…_

_A thundering waterfall in the Swiss Alps, and a baritone voice calling one name, over and over again…_

The Doctor stared at his charge in shock. "_What?!_"

* * *

_**==Children of Time==**_

_**Smith and Holmes**_

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Sky here! First off, I want to say that, while it's true that this thing was my idea, this particular story is Ria's baby! While I was floundering with writer's block, she was cooking up this story and practically serving it to me with a side of pure win. I couldn't have even written this prologue without her giving me a script to build off of!

Secondly, we built this story in a really fun way—i.e. live roleplaying. It has been making for fantastic dynamics and some truly brilliant bits of interaction. From the start, Ria has been handling Holmes, and I've been handling the Doctor. Ironic, that latter part: Ten isn't actually _my_ Doctor—that would be Nine. But going on Tennant withdrawal, I was eager to try something new and see if I could get my head around Ten's very complicated personality.

Now, this _is_ the first 'episode' in a series. Specifically, NuWho's Season 3. We can't tell you how excited we are to be doing this, and we hope you'll have as much fun reading as we do writing!

_**Please review!**_


	2. Chapter 1: The Time Lord

**==Chapter I== **

**The Time Lord**

_When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth._

The first thing Holmes noticed while struggling awake was the humming—a low, throbbing tone that sounded vaguely musical. He forced his heavy eyelids open, greatly surprised to find himself alive and seemingly unhurt, although his body still retained the faintest echo of the pain that had wracked him when... _Oh, dear God, the creature, where...?_ He sat bolt upright, heart hammering with the sudden return of his memory, the unreasoning terror that gripped him as he ran for his life still fresh in his mind.

Only to find that the scene had changed to something just as wondrous, though hardly less alarming.

He was resting on perhaps the strangest bed he had ever seen, in a spacious room equally deserving of that description. The white walls and general cleanliness seemed to imply that this was some kind of hospital, but there were many objects in the room whose like he had never seen before, and as to their purposes he could only hazard the vaguest surmise. Where the devil was he? He would be inclined to wager he was no longer in Lhasa, which led to the next troubling question of how long he had been unconscious—certainly long enough to have recovered from his harrowing ordeal at the hands of the creature.

He shuddered at the recollection of those razor-sharp claws tearing through his flesh, the sheer brute strength of the beast as it backhanded him almost casually into the wall... _How_ could he have been so stupid? And—his hands searched his torso minutely, probing beneath the thankfully recognisable hospital gown, missing clothes being the least of his concerns at present—why was he not carrying any scars from his experience... or any scars _at all_, for that matter? His skin was now entirely unblemished; all the souvenirs acquired from past cases had vanished without trace, even the chemical stains on his fingers from years of experiments.

"Impossible," he breathed, staring at his hands in disbelief.

"Shame on you, Mr. Holmes!" A cheerful male voice broke in on his thoughts, startling him. "Surely the world's greatest detective can't be stumped for some kind of rational explanation!" Although the accent was Estuary, one he encountered constantly in London, the tall, thin figure who came into view as he swivelled on the bed to face him was a thoroughly odd-looking individual. He barely had time to register any of the minutiae, however, before the man was levering away from the wall he had been leaning against and striding towards him, hand outstretched.

"Though, of course, there's always 'Data, data, data!'" the stranger continued merrily. "'I cannot make bricks without clay!' I love it—it's brilliant! You're a genius, you are." His wide, almost manic grin and sparkling brown eyes revealed genuine pleasure at their unusual encounter.

Those eyes... there was something about them, something in them, that made Holmes feel strangely uneasy...

Resisting the sudden urge to retreat, as he still had no clue as to his location, or even whether his legs would support him at present, the detective held his own hand out cautiously, trying not to wince as the man seized it and shook it vigorously. His energetic host was seemingly no immediate threat, although his knowledge of Holmes' true identity was cause for serious concern. He desperately needed more information about, well, everything! "You seem to have the advantage of me, sir," he ventured politely, doing his best to sound grateful—after all, the man did appear to have gone to some considerable effort on his account. "Whom do I have the honour of addressing?"

"Oh," said the man, grinning even as his mouth widened considerably around that one word, "I'm the Doctor. And the honour is mine—it really is. I've read so much about you—_brilliant_ stuff."

The word "Doctor" rang hollowly in Holmes's ears, although the lack of a name attached to the title was more than sufficient to pique his curiosity. "You flatter me, s—Doctor. Are you an associate of Dr. Watson's, by any chance?" Although he was fairly certain that his friend would have mentioned such a colleague long before, given the eccentric nature of the fellow.

"Nooo, but I wish I was." The Doctor flashed him a dazzling smile. "Big admirer, me. I'm gonna have to try to meet him, one of these days."

Now that Holmes had a little more time to observe, there were many details about the man that simply did not hang together, something he found most disquieting. "And yet you do not seem to favour any one particular branch of science, despite your obvious proficiency in the healing arts."

The Doctor, if that was truly his title, gave a shout of laughter, tossing his head back and thrusting his hands into his coat pockets. "_Molto bene,_ Mr. Holmes! However did you deduce that?"

"Simplicity itself, Doctor. What I find much more difficult to comprehend is how you rescued me from that... abomination..." He frowned as the Doctor's eyes narrowed slightly at the last word. "...that was attempting to terminate my existence. I must also question why you would take offence at the use of such a term, unless..." He swung his legs off the bed and slid carefully to the floor, greatly relieved to find himself able to remain standing, then drew himself up with as much dignity as his unconventional attire would allow.

"Unless you yourself are responsible for the creature's presence in the town of Lhasa—in which case, I shall thank you to state your true intentions, here and now. I have played sufficient rounds of one game with the greatest criminal mind in the English-speaking world; and now that he is deceased, I have no wish to demean myself by providing entertainment for any of his subordinates." His steely grey gaze took in the Doctor's growing expression of astonishment, searching for any hint of a deception. "Who are you, 'Doctor', and what precisely is it that you want of me?"

He had been hoping for a strong reaction of some kind—one that would, with any luck, indicate where his host's allegiances really lay—but he was entirely unprepared for the response he actually received. The Doctor's previous smile had faded into a solemnity that made him seem impossibly old. Ancient. As if there was a very old soul in that young body.

"I've never met Professor Moriarty, Mr. Holmes," he said slowly, one eyebrow severely slanted. "I can promise you that. I am not at all connected to him or Colonel Moran or any part of that criminal family. I'm the Doctor. That's what I am, that's who I am. You wouldn't want to know my Name—no one would. I'm the Doctor, because I help people. I heal them if I can. And if I fail them..." His dark eyes were regretful, filled with the sorrow of generations. "I don't forgive myself. And I try to forget. Because if I ever, for one moment, dwelt on the past... I think it would kill me."

The corners of his mouth lifted slightly, ruefully. "Not that long ago, I could have given you this wonderful speech about the tilt of the Earth, and its journey around the Sun. Now listen to me. I've gotten so..." He broke off and shook his head, turning away but glancing back at Holmes out of the corner of his eye as if to gauge his reaction.

Holmes realised with chagrin that his mouth was slightly agape, having shamefully all but lost his composure in the face of a formidable presence he would once have cheerfully killed to possess—but no longer. The price for such authority was clearly written in the Doctor's face, burning deep in his ancient eyes. He hastily pulled himself together, and cleared his throat apologetically. "Forgive me, Doctor. As you are no doubt aware, a man in my position cannot afford to blindly place his trust in anyone. I am certain you can understand my suspicions, given the nature of our surroundings."

"Oh, now, I completely understand that, believe me," said the Doctor in an empathic tone. "Paranoia's a terrible thing, 'specially when it's justified. I'd say you've got a very justifiable case."

Holmes waved a hand at the marvellous machines about the room, shaking his head in wonder. "In my experience, who else but the Professor would possess the mental powers to even conceive of such scientific advancements, let alone bring a single one of them to fruition? James Moriarty may have been my mortal enemy, but I am not ashamed to admit that the man was my intellectual superior in matters such as this, at least." This got a smirk and a small snort out of the Doctor, as if at a joke that Holmes couldn't know.

Holmes folded his arms and leaned back against the bed, letting himself relax ever so slightly. "Yet you say you are not associated with him—I am inclined to believe you, if for no other reason than your generous hospitality thus far. Were you prepared to harm me, you would doubtless have done so already. You are not the kind of man who hesitates to act on his convictions."

"Got that in one, didn't you?" the Doctor murmured. "Good reasoning, all of it—I am _impressed_. I mean, seriously, I only get the chance to meet a genius like you every once in a very blue moon. Sometimes even _on_..." He stopped himself, his already-large eyes widening further. "Ahhh. Weeeyll, I was going to save it for later, but you wouldn't like it if you stepped outside before I told you."

He hooked his foot around a nearby chair, pulled it over, sat down, and leant forward, his hands clasped between his knees. "This is probably going to be very hard for you to believe, Mr. Holmes, so I won't blame you at all if... well, if you _can't _believe it, just yet. I mean, I know very well there's only so much incredible information even a brilliant mind can take."

He took a deep breath and released it as he spoke. "Okay, so I'm the Doctor. I look about, what, thirty-five years old? I think you've worked out by now that I'm not as young as I look—in fact, I'm nowhere close."

Holmes nodded slowly. "I confess, your eyes were something of an indication that you are more than you appear to be." A colossal understatement perhaps, but he would much prefer not to admit to his true sentiments on the subject. "Would it be ill-mannered of me to inquire as to your exact age?"

The Doctor focused on his hands as they clasped and unclasped. "I'm roughly nine centuries old, or, at least, I like to claim that I am. In all honesty, which I think you'd prefer, I believe I've been claiming to be nine hundred years for a couple centuries, at least, now—give or take." He looked up and met Holmes's widening eyes squarely. "That's because I'm not human," he said quietly. "I know I look it, but you look just as equally Time Lord, which is who my people are. Or were. This isn't my world, though it is the only home I have left, now... I'm going too fast for you, aren't I? I'm sorry."

"On the contrary, Doctor," Holmes murmured faintly, gripping the bed behind him for support as covertly as possible. "I really must congratulate you; you are the first person in the last two years—human or otherwise—that has succeeded in flooring me repeatedly within the space of a few minutes."

The Doctor grinned briefly. "Well, that's something, then."

The concept of intelligent life elsewhere in the universe had arisen on occasion in conversations with Watson, usually after his friend had just finished his most recent foray into the realms of pseudo-scientific fiction. At the time, Holmes had been forced to admit that, given the sheer size of the cosmos, such extra-terrestrial beings were at the very least a distant possibility from a purely mathematical standpoint—but to be confronted with actual _proof_ of that existence...

Face alight with growing fascination and more than a little awe, he straightened and cautiously approached the... Time Lord, had he called himself? Although Holmes could not be truly afraid—not with the evidence before him of his host's... well, humanity, for lack of a better word. There had been something in the Doctor's voice as he spoke of his loss that had sounded an answering echo in Holmes; and the detective's home was only ever half a world away, at most.

The Doctor smiled encouragingly at the detective. "There is _so_ much more I could tell you—so much more that I'm honestly having to exercise some impressive self-restraint. Trust me, I can rattle your ears off given half the chance—this version of me has got the fastest mouth I've ever had."

He frowned at himself as Holmes raised a curious eyebrow. "Ooo, that was a sizable chunk of information right there. But, seriously, just ask me anything you want." He spread his hands out, palms up, and that encouraging smile returned. "Can't promise that I'll have the answers or that I'll be willing to give them, but I'll do my best. You're not flat-out rejecting my fantastic claims, and you have no idea just how grateful I am for that."

Holmes smiled slightly. "Well, to my mind, Doctor, there are only three real possibilities. First: that you are an outright lunatic, but our acquaintance thus far has done nothing to confirm such a theory—quite the opposite, in fact. Second: that you are a charlatan, and all of this is nothing more than an elaborate hoax. However, I have seen into the minds and hearts of enough of my fellow men to recognise a lie when I hear it, arrogant as that might sound, which leaves only one viable option: that you are telling the truth, however improbable it may seem."

The Doctor's smile burst into a full-blown grin. "That's brilliant. 'When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains'... gah, genius!" He seemed to be nearly beside himself with childlike joy. "Mind you, I wouldn't completely rule out the lunatic bit." He winked. "People are always calling me crazy, but who cares? I don't!"

Holmes' brow furrowed. "That being the case, however, I do have several questions, the foremost of which is how you knew my identity. Emil Sigerson is a pseudonym I have been forced to adopt for some considerable time. Since you have not been seeking me on Moran's behalf, or Watson's..." He faltered for a brief moment before continuing, "I would appreciate knowing of any flaws in my performance, that I might not make the same error twice—something which could have fatal consequences, and not merely for myself."

"Ohhh," the Doctor drawled, tilting his head, "I wouldn't worry about that. I—well, to be honest, I travel in time. It's what I do—it's what my people did. You know, Time Lord, reason for the name. Anyway, I've read Watson's stories in the future—all of them. Including the ones that haven't been written yet..." He gave the detective a significant look.

Holmes frowned, uncertain of how to interpret his host's expression. "I am well aware that Watson has chronicled more of our cases together than have been published to date—what of it?"

The Doctor exhaled impatiently. "Pffff, all right. It means that I know what has already happened to you and Watson, and what hasn't taken place yet but _will_. I know your futures... An' believe me, that worst nightmare of yours is never going to happen."

Holmes stared. "So, what you are telling me, Doctor, is that Watson and I will one day be reunited—for certain?" He eyed the man opposite him warily, hope and disbelief battling for supremacy in his breast. "Believe me, sir, there is nothing I should like more than to accept your assurances as absolute truth, and yet..." He hesitated, searching for the right words. "I am certainly no expert in such matters, but is it not the nature of time to be subject to change? Does not merely possessing knowledge of the future cause it to alter?"

The Doctor took another deep breath. "Not if you're very, very careful, and does it sound like I'm giving a lot of details to you? Look, Time tends to be in flux, all right? You're right: it does shift and change... but not always." He stood abruptly, shunting his chair backwards, and began to pace the room. "There are things called Fixed Points in Time. They're events—births, deaths, decisions—that must always happen. They must _always_ happen, no matter what... or Time will start to fold in on itself. Things like the signing of the Magna Carta, or Columbus's discovery of the New World..." He stopped in his tracks and spun around to stare meaningfully at Holmes. "Or a certain meeting at St. Bart's, in 1881."

Holmes' jaw dropped. "You can _not_ be serious!" However, there was no trace of doubt or humour in the Doctor's steady gaze. Stunned, the detective managed to stammer out, "Pardon me, sir, I... I had no idea... How is it possible, Doctor, for Watson and I meeting as we did to be so... fundamental to the well-being of... I do not even know what to call it!" His mind reeled at the implications of such a concept. "It seems woefully egoistic to believe oneself as anything more than... an insignificant speck in the grand scheme of things." Especially since it was that very perspective which had led Moriarty to his downfall, figuratively and literally.

"I know you didn't have any idea. How could you?" the Doctor sighed, dropping heavily back into the chair, which creaked in protest. "But it's not egoistic—from where I'm standing, it's just history. It's as much history as anything you ever learned in school, because every man that makes history is just that: a man."

"I... think I am beginning to understand. So, these Fixed Points—you can sense them?"

The seated figure nodded approvingly. "Yeeep. Part and parcel of being a Time Lord. One of the reeeally interesting things about you—and Watson—is that you two've got several Fixed Points in your lives." He sat forward, clasping his knees. "St. Bart's is one... Reichenbach is another. And, here's the _really _interesting part: so is every story Watson ever publishes about you."

"Good Lord," the detective breathed.

"From a time-traveller's standpoint, it's absolutely fascinating!" The Doctor was perched on the very edge of his seat, eyes aglow with enthusiasm. "You don't often come across a couple of people who are practically Fixed Points themselves..."

"Evidently," Holmes murmured, shaking his head to clear it, with little success. "Just... promise me one thing, Doctor. If you ever do meet Watson, don't tell _him_ about all of this—he is vain enough about his scribblings as it is." It was oddly comforting in this otherworldly moment to have something familiar of which to disapprove.

"Ohhh!" the Doctor frowned in protest. "He's got as good a reason to be proud of his work as you do of yours, Holmes! You shouldn't be so hard on him for it—after all, it's what really gives the both of you your immortality."

Holmes scowled and folded his arms defensively. "Something I have never desired, Doctor."

"Well, you've got it," the Time Lord countered bluntly. "And it's important. You want Scotland Yard to improve? Deal with it." At Holmes' slow nod, the Doctor's unyielding expression relaxed back into a smile. "'Sides, Watson deserves it. He might not be writing a 'series of lectures', but he _does_ write a set of stories that are far above anything any other writer has done by this time."

"Speaking of time, sir," Holmes interjected thoughtfully. "I can understand, to some extent, how you knew me through these Fixed Points in my timeline—but would I be right in thinking that this is not one of them?"

The Doctor raised an eyebrow, apparently impressed. "You being on this investigation, you mean?"

"To all intents and purposes, our meeting would seem to be a mere coincidence. However, you _are_ a time-traveller—" a thought that would never cease to fill him with wonder—"who is required as a matter of course to take a wider view of such issues. In your not-so-humble opinion, to quote Watson: 'What in blazes is going on?'"

* * *

**Author's Note from Sky:**

I can't tell you how exciting and how fun it was to write this chapter—it's actually the first scene Ria and I wrote. And if I can fangirl a bit over my co-author? It's just that I've always been impressed with her Holmes, and now with the advent of Holmes meeting the Doctor, I'm more impressed than ever! I love the powerful sense of wonder she gives our detective and how he gets on so well with our Time Lord. It's absolutely fantastic.

Now, thanks to the load of artwork I have to do this weekend, the next chapter won't be up until Monday, at the earliest. But stay tuned, because Holmes meets the TARDIS, and much adorable-ness ensues from our heroes!

_**Please review!**_


	3. Chapter 2: The TARDIS

**==Chapter 2==**

**The TARDIS**

_Oh, my beautiful idiot. You have what you've always had. You've got me._

"Ah..." The Doctor ran a hand through his hair, feeling a bit sheepish at having to explain something as irrational as his timing to the ultimately rational detective. "I don't suppose you'd believe me if I said that these things just happen? Me showing up at the right time, I mean. It happens." _All the bloody time_... "As for what's going on here in Tibet, well—that's what I'm here to find out."

"Which leads me to my next question," said Holmes. "Where are we, exactly?"

"Ah," the Doctor repeated, scratching the back of his head. He really had no idea how Sherlock Holmes would react to something like the TARDIS... "We're in my TARDIS."

"Excuse me?"

"Acronym for 'Time and Relative Dimension in Space'. She can travel through time and space, this old girl, and she's brilliant, herself." The Doctor patted the wall affectionately.

The lights flickered warmly in response.

"Aw," the Doctor crooned, "there now, y'see?"

Holmes cocked his head to one side. "You speak of your... ship, Doctor, almost as though it were alive."

The Doctor smiled delightedly. "You are good! _Molto bene_! You're the first human who's ever figured that out!" The lights flickered again, this time above Holmes's head.

"Ohhh, she likes you!" the Doctor grinned. He stopped and tilted his head, sensing the strength of the TARDIS's lighthearted emotions and feeling glad for her. "Definitely."

Holmes, to his credit, merely blinked. "Er, thank you... miss? Forgive me, I am not exactly accustomed to addressing a machine as an equal—although, in this case, I would gladly make an exception." The detective bowed gallantly, to which the TARDIS responded with a shower of flurrying lights and beeps from medical equipment.

The Doctor frowned at the ceiling. "Heeey, that's not fair! A gentleman bows to you, and you decide to start flirting with him?" He turned back to Holmes. "Never mind her—she's literally ancient and flighty."

Holmes frowned in return. "Pay no attention to the Doctor, madam—familiarity breeds contempt, as they say."

_What?!_ The Doctor's jaw dropped as the TARDIS flickered and beeped further, in a language that a human could not understand but that a Time Lord could, all too well... And this particular Time Lord did not care for the sentiments that his TARDIS was expressing. "I. Don't. Believe it," he told her. "A good millennium together and suddenly you're... you're... you're flirting with _Sherlock Holmes_! _The_ SHERLOCK HOLMES!"

A realisation froze him briefly, and he glanced at Holmes. "You keep this up, and I might seriously have to kick you out before she locks me out."

Holmes's answering smile did not grate on the Doctor's nerves—nope, not in the slightest. "Then perhaps you should show the respect that is due to a lady, sir. I am not to blame for your lack of manners."

The Doctor's eyebrows and jaw fell at the same time. "She's not _a_ lady—she's _my_ lady, and I _do _show her respect! I'm the one who saved her from gathering dust in a museum and—" From being destroyed in the Time War with the rest of her sisters. The Doctor couldn't finish that sentence, not even for Sherlock Holmes.

Eyes widening, the Time Lord turned his gaze to the ceiling. "You know what I mean, don't you, old girl?" he said quietly.

An equally quiet twitter from the machines was his answer.

He stroked the wall gently, telepathically apologising for bringing the thing up. "I know," he murmured, "I know. But we've still got each other, eh?"

Holmes, meantime, had apparently focused on one word, his grey eyes narrowing. "Museum?"

The Doctor looked back at Holmes. "Her type of TARDIS was being retired—they were all just sitting in an almost-forgotten vault somewhere. And me, weeell, I was young and restless. Big universe out there, all of time and space... and I wanted to see it. So I stole myself a TARDIS. Well, more like... I broke into the vault and... she kind of called out to me. Most beautiful thing I ever saw in my life." He patted the wall again. "Ran off, been running ever since. Humans come and go, but this old girl has stuck with me."

Holmes shook his head, smiling.

The Doctor smiled, himself, and glanced around the room. "She's in the shape of... well, a box that hasn't been invented yet." He arched his eyebrows mischievously at Holmes. "She's bigger on the inside."

Holmes stared. "How much bigger?"

Question was, how much more could a Victorian's mind—even a genius Victorian's mind—take? The Doctor was veeery curious. "Ohhh, pffff... I don't think anyone really knows just how many rooms a TARDIS can hold. And they shift positions quite a lot—I suppose a time-machine has to have some fun with herself."

"I can only imagine," was all Holmes could manage, and that in an awed tone.

The Doctor grinned.

Holmes cleared his throat and said, "How do you avoid getting lost?"

"Ah, after a couple hundred years, you get used to it." The Doctor broke out into a laugh. "In all seriousness, companions tend to get the hang of it in a few weeks. Probably has something to do with the TARDIS's telepathic... link..."

His eyes widened again at another realisation. "Um, Holmes? I just thought of something... You're probably going to find translating Tibetan to be a whole lot easier now..."

Holmes arched one aristocratic eyebrow. "I am already fairly fluent in the local dialect, Doctor."

"Well, of course, you are, and I would expect that of you. But, ah... you might find that you'll be speaking perfect Tibetan... just by speaking English." The Doctor winced.

Holmes stared again. "I beg your pardon?"

Hooo boy... "Ah, yeah, telepathic link. The TARDIS, she, ah... kind of gets inside your head—she can't help it; she was designed to do that with anyone who goes inside her, unless she manages to override her own programming. Basically, she knows every language that ever was and ever will be, and she translates them perfectly in your head and through your mouth. You'll be hearing perfect English from the locals; they'll be hearing perfect Tibetan from you. That's what makes the TARDISes such perfect time-machines, because you don't have to worry about language barriers."

Holmes weakly said something that the Doctor didn't catch. "I'm sorry?"

"Mandarin," Holmes said a bit more loudly. The poor man...

"Ah, okay. Mandarin. Should've known it was Mandarin. No, I shouldn't've. Never mind. Um... are you all right with that? I didn't even think about that little side-effect when I brought you on board."

"You don't say?"

Another time, the Doctor might have bristled at the sarcasm. Now, however, he wilted a bit. "I'm sorry," he said sincerely. "I am so sorry."

Holmes sighed and waved a regal hand. "No need, my dear Doctor. No harm done, I suppose... although I am curious as to the duration of this, er... side-effect."

"Mm... I'm not for sure... but it might be, ah... permanent?" The Doctor proceeded to fold in on himself.

The grey eyes gleaming at him, however, were going to give no quarter. "Well, what of your previous companions? Have none of them ever mentioned the subject when they saw you again?"

The Doctor looked down at the floor, murmuring, "Sarah Jane never mentioned it, and she's... she's the only one I've ever gone back to, aside from the Brigadier." He looked up. "Most companions stay with me as long as they can, until something happens to them. I'm lucky to nudge a few away from me before they get damaged or killed."

At this, the Great Detective looked quite awkward. "Forgive me, Doctor—it was not my intent to distress you. To be perfectly honest, this effect does seem far more a blessing than a curse. I shall certainly enjoy its benefits while they last, however long that might be—although I imagine its loss will be a severe blow when it does occur."

The Doctor sighed explosively. "You might be waiting a long time for that loss, Holmes. And never mind any distress on my part... the Vortex knows I deserve it." He cupped his chin morosely in his hand. "Weeell, we got on a really long tangent, but I did answer your question. You're welcome to keep on asking them—'s kind of fun."

"As long as one of us is amused... But I do believe you never answered my original query."

The Doctor frowned. "What was that? I don't remember."

"When you first encountered me, how did either of us escape the... creature? I assume you have some idea of what it was."

"It ran away, Holmes," the Doctor said gravely. "It was scared and confused, and very likely angry because of it. You show up, present yourself as an irresistible target... but another person comes along, and it doesn't want to be seen, so it runs."

"You seem to have some experience of such matters, Doctor. And your expression tells me that I have just made quite the understatement."

"'Bout as much experience as you would have with a criminal's mindset," the Time Lord said dryly. In an even drier tone, he added, "Maybe even more."

"Why does that not surprise me?"

The Doctor's resulting smile faded quickly back to solemnity. "Couldn't tell for sure, but I think your attacker was human, 'was' being the very operative word."

Holmes's already-pale face whitened. "What!"

"I'm sorry," the Doctor said sadly, feeling genuinely bad for the man, "but I think he got the wrong end of a genetic experiment."

Holmes's horrified expression did not fade. "In English, Doctor, please!"

The Doctor sighed. "Holmes, you're not thinking clearly. You know the word 'genetic,' and you know the word 'experiment'. And whether the brains behind it this time are human or not, there are always people willing to ruin a life by toying with a body."

"That, I can well believe! Do you have any idea of who is responsible for this... this atrocity?" Yep, the man was still looking sick.

"Weeell, now, that's where I got lucky. Just travelling, me, and wind up in Tibet just in time to save someone from a human-hybrid. Aaand, _molto bene_, it turns out to be the world's best detective!" The Doctor felt his grin split his face. "Up to investigatin' possible alien doings, Mr. Holmes?"

Holmes smiled grimly. "Well, I do seem to have been doing that already, had I but known it at the time. Another question has just occured to me, however."

"'M all ears."

"If you did not come seeking me, what was your reason for visiting this particular date and location, with all of Time and Space to choose from?"

"Oh!" Blimey, again with the sheepishness. But how does one explain being at the mercy of one's flighty time machine? "Weeell."

"Or was your ship the one responsible, perchance? It... er, she does seem to have quite the will of her own."

The Doctor had to grin. "That she does. Ah, I actually was just on a sightseeing tour—she apparently decided to drop me smack-dab in the middle of this bitty little problem." Now for the question any good Holmesian would have asked... "Wha' about you? I mean, why Tibet?"

"My time as the explorer Sigerson has taken me many places, Doctor—though I must confess that the Sera monastery above Lhasa has been something of a personal Mecca."

"Oh?" The Time Lord's interest was piqued. "An' why is that?"

"It houses a university second to none in this part of the world, with an excellent library." Ah, that was the ticket—of course an intelligent, learned man on the run would jump at the chance to learn something new at such a special place. "Even a hunted man needs to rest occasionally... I had thought to spend some time in study and reflection."

The Doctor smiled slightly. "You're lucky, then. I don't think I've ever had a rest in my lives... I'm not sure I'd want to."

Holmes raised that absurdly aristocratic eyebrow again—why did the Doctor feel suddenly like a university student under scrutiny? "Do you mean to tell me that you have spent the better part of a thousand years in constant travel?"

"Basically," the Doctor said shortly, "yeah."

Holmes shook his head. "And to think that once I might have envied you that ability, Doctor."

"You couldn't manage it," the Doctor said quietly. "Not without going insane, anyway."

"I believe you," Holmes said feelingly. "Though, regarding your health, the years do seem to have been kind to you."

The Doctor giggled briefly—the man had no idea. "Not really. I'm only about... middle-aged right now for a Time Lord—if even that—and on my tenth life."

"Your tenth," Holmes said slowly.

The Doctor winced. Bringing Sherlock Holmes up to speed was not like doing the same to any of his other companions—not at all... "Ooo, ah, yeah." He sucked in his breath and let it out as he spoke. "Time Lords... they have this little trick, see, hard-wired into their genetic code. A Time Lord can live up to five hundred years before dying of old age, which is basically what I did on my first life. Then they regenerate—the energy of the Time Vortex rewrites the body, the face, the voice, and largely the personality... and remakes the Time Lord.

Regeneration, or rebirth. This is my ninth regeneration, or my tenth lifetime."

"Something like reincarnation, then?" Holmes ventured.

"Ehhh, depends on which idea of reincarnation we're talking about. But something like it, yeah."

"And yet you say you only died of old age the first time," Holmes mused. "Do you regenerate as an infant each time? I can imagine how that could be exceedingly inconvenient, depending on the manner in which a Time Lord met his demise."

"Only time you could possibly regenerate into a baby is if you died when you were a very young child. Adult Time Lords stay adult Time Lords. Granted, most of them had more control over their regenerations than I do—barely got through university, me, and I'm stuck with regeneration on random. Never know what I'll end up with. This is one of my youngest-looking regenerations to date."

Holmes shook his head. "Incredible."

The Doctor shook his head, as well, but for a much different reason. "I'm not even old by Time Lord standards, but I think it's too long. Thirteen regenerations... that ought to be over five thousand years of life. That's too long. Probably just as well I'll end up getting killed for good one of these days."

"My sympathies, Doctor," Holmes said gravely.

The detective had no way of knowing just how much those words hurt. He had only just been introduced to the Doctor, after all—he wasn't a companion to protest the Doctor's words and give him hope, however false. The Time Lord ached to have that kind of companionship back.

He closed his eyes and said, "Thanks."

Holmes must have picked up on something, though. "Perhaps that does not mean very much, however, coming from the limited viewpoint of a short-lived human being. Or is that one of the reasons you are drawn to this planet?"

The Doctor smiled with his eyes still closed. "Got it in two. You humans are so amazing... you don't realize just how amazing you are. Just how lucky you are. You live for such a short time, and you have to make every bit of it count. That's a gift. That's something not every race in the universe has."

"The ability to die," Holmes murmured, surprised. "I had never thought of it in that light before."

"Any parent who's ever lost a child knows something of what it feels like," the Doctor said, his voice more strained than he would have liked. Now the question was if Holmes would work out that the Doctor had once been a father... "Wanting to die and having to live on."

"Very true." Holmes sighed. "My apologies, Doctor. I must confess, it is at times like this that I could wish for Watson's bedside manner, so to speak. No doubt I am living up to my Boswell's descriptions of me as a brain without a heart."

"_Oh_, heeey!" The Doctor's head shot up. No way he was about to let an amazing person like Sherlock Holmes get away with berating himself like that! He didn't deserve that, being called heartless or thinking of himself that way. The Doctor knew what a truly all-brain-no-heart person was like, and it most certainly was _not _the Great Detective.

"You, Sherlock Holmes, are _not_ a brain without a heart, and I won't have you talking about yourself that way. Doctor's orders! You're brilliant, but, more than that, you have a very big heart and it's always been one of the things I've loved the most about you! A hundred years from now, when people are still obsessing over you, there are a lot that are going to appreciate you not so much for your deductive genius as for the way you're so fantastically human! It's just..." The Doctor grinned. "Aw, listen to me—I'm fanboying so bad that I sound like a teenage girl."

Holmes coughed awkwardly, concealing his discomfort with a stern frown. "As flattering as that admiration is, Doctor, I would urge you, as I would my future 'fans'—I assume that vulgar term stands for 'fanatic'..." He winced in distaste. "...to put that excessive enthusiasm to an infinitely better purpose. Fascinating as this conversation has been, we are still no nearer to discovering the perpetrator of this... this outrage, or their motivation. Since your TARDIS was the first to notice that anything was out of the ordinary..."

He cleared his throat respectfully and addressed the air above the Doctor's head with surprising aplomb. "What precisely was it that attracted your attention, madam?"

Time could not just freeze in a time machine, but the Doctor was certain his old girl came close. She quieted instantly at Holmes's words, then hummed sadly in the Time Lord's head. He closed his eyes again. "Holmes, you can't hold a conversation that easily with a TARDIS. They communicate through emotions, through..."

He scrubbed his hands down his face as he wracked his brain for the proper words in English. "Through thinking of the _essence _of something. It's highly inexact and not at all easy to translate into spoken language for very long."

His girl twittered sadly.

"Besides which," the Doctor continued, "that's not how it works: she never gives me information directly about a problem. She can't. She sits outside of Time as _you _understand it, being linear... She sits at the heart of Time and Space and she is experiencing everything at every moment that ever was and ever will be."

He smiled sadly. "If Time Lords are a far cut above humans in terms of perception, TARDISes are at least as much again. I'm afraid we're left to our own devices. Probably start out with a sonic scan..."

Holmes inclined his head respectfully, obviously trying not to look mystified by the strange terminology the Time Lord had just used. "I bow to your expertise in this case, Doctor. Please, convey my apologies to your vessel. It would seem that my usual methods leave something to be desired in any culture..." The detective shook his head, looking more than a little forlorn, before looking up again, expression resolute. "Clearly, I have much to learn. This case has already taken me far outside the boundaries of anything I could ever have imagined... and I am in no doubt that the circumstances will become much more extraordinary before we resolve the matter in hand." His keen grey eyes glinted with anticipation. "Never let it be said that Sherlock Holmes was averse to a challenge."

The Doctor beamed, absolutely thrilled. "That's the spirit! This is gonna be brilliant, I just know it!" He leapt up and bounded out of the medbay. "_Allons-y!_"

Holmes followed at a slightly more sedate pace. "First things first, Doctor—I believe I shall require some proper clothing." The man sounded equal parts amused and exasperated.

The Doctor skidded to a halt, ready to smack himself. "Ooo, right, sorry about that! Ah, wardrobe ought to be… down that hall—" he pointed—"go right, up a stairs, take a left, and then third door on your right. Got it?"

"I believe so, but how am I to find you afterwards?"

The Time Lord stared. "Just reverse your direction and take this hallway all the way out to the control room."

Holmes held his ground. "To be fair, Doctor, you did mention earlier that the TARDIS interior is by no means fixed."

The Doctor sighed. "She doesn't shift directions on you when you're actually moving through her. Usually. Unless she wants to help you. Or, if you're an intruder, lose you."

Again with that aristocratic eyebrow! "I shall do my utmost not to offend her, then…"

The TARDIS twittered happily.

Her Time Lord _did_ smack himself, this time. "Oh, _enough_ with the flirting, honey!"

Holmes simply smiled, and, at that moment, the Doctor would have given anything to know what was going on in that genius brain of his. "I shall see you later, then, Doctor." He turned and followed the corridor down…

And the Doctor looked back up at the ceiling. "Why do you keep doing that?"

She hummed cheerily back.

"Well, I _know_, but… _Really_? I mean, come _on_."

* * *

**Author's Note from Ria:**

This chapter was the first one written from the Doctor's perspective. I am, as I was then, blown away by how well Sky writes the Tenth Doctor – she completely captures his eccentric, complicated personality. As for me, I'm having a fantastic time writing Holmes, and the way those two spark off each other… it's gonna make for some great fireworks later on!

**Author's Note from Sky:**

Originally, these first two chapters were one, and Ria pointed out that it was an awfully _long_ chapter. I think the split serves them well. Oh, and _do_ be prepared for a lot of conversation between our Doctor and Detective, because they've got a lot of ground to cover with each other!

It's been so much fun writing the TARDIS as a character—and even more fun seeing her flirt with Holmes! The poor Doctor…

Next up, the Doctor and Holmes investigate, and Holmes finds out just how… small… the TARDIS is on the outside. Stay tuned!

_**Please review!**_


	4. Chapter 3: The Game Is Afoot

**==Chapter 3==  
**

**The Game Is Afoot**

_Data, data, data. I cannot make bricks without clay._

Mercifully, the wardrobe room was exactly where the Doctor had said it was, although Holmes had a difficult time not getting lost in the room itself. He'd thought that _he_ possessed an impressive amount of disguises, but the sheer variety of costumes here was truly inspiring, despite the fact that some of the items were barely recognisable as clothing. He could easily have browsed the racks for hours, but it wouldn't do to keep his host waiting. Regretfully, the detective tore himself away from the complete set of samurai armour he'd been admiring, and headed for the collection of winter garments, eschewing the futuristic synthetic materials for clothing more akin to what he'd originally worn. He was, however, unable to resist the Eskimo parka with its fur-lined hood...

Making his way back through the corridors, Holmes had to withstand the strong urge to open any of the other doors. He was a guest here, he told himself sternly, and although the TARDIS seemed to approve of him, that did not grant him the right to pry—far from it. Besides, a vessel which flew through time and space as easily as a bird through air might have _anything_ behind the most innocuous-looking portal, and not necessarily the same thing twice... He'd simply have to wait to be given an official tour.

He found his way back to the medbay and followed the corridor the Doctor had indicated, the throbbing hum seeming to grow louder as he drew nearer to the end of the passage. Holmes was starting to think that the sound was the equivalent of the TARDIS breathing, or perhaps her heartbeat... He shook his head in awe, something he'd been doing a great deal of in the last hour. To be walking within a _living_ machine, self-aware as any human...

Holmes snapped out of his reverie as he entered what had to be the control room. The circular space was the largest he had seen yet, the lighting dim and without any obvious source—which, combined with the smooth coral-like supporting columns, gave him a vague sensation of being underwater. But the most fascinating detail by far was the apparatus in the middle of the room, which was clearly the centre of operations. A column of what appeared to be glass, although he would have wagered it was not, stood supported by some kind of hexagonal table, crowded with the most diverse collection of components he had ever seen, most of which he couldn't even identify.

The Doctor had been bent over the odd controls, hands moving with the same confidence and energy as the conductor of an orchestra, but spun around as Holmes approached to throw his arms out wide, smiling broadly. "Welcome to the TARDIS control room!"

"Most impressive," a wide-eyed Holmes couldn't help but murmur.

There was more happy twittering from the TARDIS, which drew a mournful look from the Doctor. "I think I'm actually feeling jealous..."

Holmes threw the man an apologetic glance. "Forgive me, Doctor. I would never wish to cause any kind of rift between you." And how could a mere mortal possibly be considered a threat, in any case?

The Doctor sighed. "It's not your fault, Holmes. You're not bad-looking, you're intelligent, and you're acting like a gentleman to her. Naturally, she's going to be attracted. She's the most amazing time-machine there ever was, but at the end of the day, she's still female."

Holmes was greatly amused to hear what sounded like a mechanical raspberry coming from the central machine.

"_Female_, honey. Hate to break it to you." The Doctor smirked, earning himself still more derisive buzzes.

The detective smiled, more flattered than he cared to admit. "This is, I confess, something of a surprise. Usually, it is Watson who attracts such admiration."

The Time Lord gave him a knowing look. "You sure it's only Watson?"

Well, admittedly, Holmes had been on the receiving end of a few speculative gazes in his time, but that was hardly a subject for casual conversation. "Nevertheless, I highly doubt that I would be any kind of serious competition, sir. I am no expert on relationships, but when two... individuals have been together for as long the pair of you have..."

The Doctor smiled ruefully. "Well, I can hope. Hope that I'm not going to be replaced by a younger model, that is." He patted the console fondly.

"On the contrary, Doctor," Holmes hastened to interject. "Your symbiotic relationship with your vessel is unique in my experience—I would be appalled to interfere with such a thing." And he fervently hoped to never again see the Doctor's subsequent expression of nauseating sentimentality.

The TARDIS twittered again, and the Doctor tilted his head. "Ooookay, if I've got it right... She called me her idiot, and said she'd keep on flirting with you for as long as she could." He paused suddenly, the import sinking in, and frowned down at the console. "Heeey!" The Doctor dragged his hands over his face. "Argh, my beautiful old girl is acting like an eighteen-year-old human." He shook his head and straightened, heading for a pair of white rectangular doors which seemed to be the main exit. "Okay, we're out of here. _Allons-y_, this time for real!"

Holmes followed, noting with interest that the right hand door seemed to have a contemporary telephone mounted on it. That would certainly help to explain the words "Police Public Call Box" above the door, on what must be the exterior, since he was reading them in reverse from the inside. He tried to look out of the small windows as he drew nearer, but the glass was strangely translucent—all he could see was a white glow. Then the Doctor threw open the left hand door... and Holmes stared in amazement at the scene before him.

"Ah, it's snowing!" The Doctor grinned like a schoolboy at the gently drifting flakes. "Love snow!" He glanced back at his stunned guest with a mischievous glint in his eye. "Wha's the matter, Sherlock? Cold got your tongue?"

The detective shook himself out of his stupor. "We are... still in Lhasa?" Despite the snow, there were simply too many familiar details for Holmes to mistake one location for another.

"Yep!" The Doctor nodded cheerfully at the open door, in an obvious "after you" gesture. Cautiously, Holmes walked outside a few paces before turning to look back at the TARDIS... What he saw made his mouth drop open in undisguised shock, thoughts scattered to the freezing winds. His gaze fell on the Doctor, who was leaning casually on the doorpost of the wardrobe-sized blue box, seemingly unaffected by the bitter cold, grinning like an idiot. "Like it?"

Still speechless, Holmes approached the weathered booth and laid a tentative hand on the side, oddly comforted by the rough grain of the wood beneath his fingertips. Unable to resist, mind still reeling from the bewildering disparity between interior and exterior, Holmes slowly walked around the TARDIS, keeping his hand on the side to steady himself.

The Doctor reached out and grasped his elbow when he arrived back at the door, eyes sparkling with merriment. Supremely grateful for the understanding gesture, Holmes did his best to pull himself together. "Words fail me, Doctor..." he breathed. Not the most eloquent speech, but it would do to begin with.

The Doctor was still grinning. "There's a reason she's called 'Time and _Relative_ Dimension In Space'."

Holmes shook his head, attempting to regather his thoughts. "Well, you did warn me she was bigger on the inside..." he conceded weakly.

His colleague nodded. "Travelling through Time and Space would be awfully inconvenient in something that's at least the size of the _Enterprise_. Bloody awkward to park."

Holmes gave him a blank look. "The what?"

The Doctor snorted with laughter. "Science fiction seventy years from now. Never mind."

Holmes returned his attention to the TARDIS, peering back inside over the Doctor's shoulder to help dispel any notions that he was going mad—though he still hadn't completely ruled out that possibility. "Yes, such an exterior size does make sense, but..."

"But?"

"Her appearance leaves something to be desired regarding camouflage, does it not?" the detective asked hesitantly, silently apologising to the TARDIS for any inadvertent slight.

The Doctor's expression cleared. "Ah, it broke, her chameleon circuit, a long time ago. Chameleon circuit is what allows a TARDIS to blend in with her surroundings. Hers broke in the 1960s, which, for me, was several hundred years and nine lifetimes ago. Got stuck in the form of a police call box." He laid an affectionate hand on the doorpost. "'Sides which, it's beautiful. Even if I could fix it—probably could—I wouldn't. She _does_ also have a perception filter, so most people who see her will just walk right on by without giving her a second thought."

"Excepting those who travel in her?" Holmes asked, greatly impressed.

"Right." The Doctor nodded, smiling. "People who travel in her or spend enough time in her get more benefits than simple automatic translation."

"Ingenious," Holmes murmured, before returning his thoughts to the matter at hand, silently scolding himself for becoming so distracted. "But we digress, I fear."

"_Oh_, right, sorry!" The Doctor gave Holmes a sheepish grin. "I am _so_ sorry—I guess I haven't had this much of a chance to show off in a long time!"

Holmes looked at the Doctor curiously, but refrained from commenting. He frowned at the falling snow as a thought occurred to him. "Even assuming it is only the morning after you brought me aboard, the snow has most likely covered any tracks left by the creature. But you mentioned a... sonic scan?"

The Time Lord's eyes gleamed. "Right. Well, that would be with this..." He thrust a hand into his inside coat pocket and pulled out a small cylindrical device, silver with a blue dome at one end. "Sonic screwdriver." Holmes watched intently, wincing as the Doctor flipped a switch that caused the dome to light up and the device to emit a whining hum which made the detective's teeth ache. "It, ah, does a lot of things. Except for wood. Can't do wood."

Holmes raised an eyebrow, choosing to ignore the physical discomfort. "You amaze me, Doctor."

The Doctor grinned and bowed. "Thank you _very_ much! Nooow..." He waved the screwdriver slowly. "The place where you were attacked last night... Which direction?" He gave Holmes a curious look. "And what exactly where you doing there? I never thought to ask."

Holmes glanced around, getting his bearings. "This way." They set off, tramping through the ankle-deep snow. "Word reached the monastery of the disappearance of one of the inhabitants here, the blacksmith—along with fantastic rumours, or so they seemed at the time..." The detective grinned ruefully. "Of a strange yeti-like creature being seen in the village that very night."

The Doctor pricked up his ears. "Yeti! I've come across yeti before, not that they were _real_ yeti..."

Holmes looked intrigued, but continued on. "Naturally, I discounted such claims, but I was unable to resist at least coming down to investigate."

His colleague beamed in approval. "Well, of course you couldn't resist! Never resist a good mystery!"

"In that, at least, Doctor, we are much alike, it seems," Holmes remarked, smiling.

"I'd say "High five", but I wouldn't want to get the Eyebrow," the Doctor responded dryly. "Anything special about this place, aside from the university?"

"Not to my knowledge, although that is rather limited," Holmes confessed. "I did my best to question the villagers, but they could tell me very little of use."

The Doctor nodded knowingly. "Big surprise there—they hardly ever can."

"The local superstition didn't help, either," Holmes sighed in frustration. "Any tragic or suspicious happenings are automatically blamed on evil spirits—one of the reasons I was on my own last night." And doubtless the reason for the streets remaining deserted this morning.

His colleague gave him a serious look. "Well, that might be more realistic than you think. A lot of things about human fears that seem irrational... really aren't. There are so many things out there that can mess with your head or just with your vision... and you'll never even know." The man's grave expression grew still more severe. "Or if you do, you won't until it's too late."

"'There are more things in heaven and earth...'" Holmes recited softly, the quote suddenly taking on a much greater significance. He couldn't be sure if the chill running down his spine was due to the cold or his growing unease.

"Shakespeare was dead-on. Really would love to meet him someday..." the Doctor muttered, brushing some of the accumulated snow out of his hair and turning up his coat collar—his first concession to the outside elements, Holmes noted enviously.

"I cannot confess to being an admirer of the man's work in general, but he clearly had his moments," he mused aloud.

The Doctor shoved his hands in his coat pockets, smiling. "I think he was a genius. He increased the English vocabulary by... was it a full hundred percent?"

Holmes grimaced. "That was certainly not his most celebrated achievement when I was up at Cambridge. _Romeo and Juliet_ must be the greatest piece of romantic nonsense to ever be inflicted upon poor, unsuspecting students."

The Time Lord shrugged. "Oh, I suppose there had to be a romantic tragedy in there, _somewhere—_he did quite the range of genres."

The detective looked thoughtful. "Hmm... perhaps you could have a word with the man if you ever do encounter him."

"Yes?" the Doctor said brightly.

Holmes shook his head. "I was not actually speaking in earnest, Doctor." For one thing, Watson would completely disapprove. "And I believe this is the place where I was first attacked. I cannot be absolutely certain, of course." After all, he had been slightly preoccupied at the time...

The Doctor raised an eyebrow, muttering, "Well, I'm totally used to that kind of request..." In a louder voice: "So, this place... Blacksmith's home, right over there?" pointing to a small house with a lean-to built onto the side, containing a well-stocked forge.

"Indeed. The creature was attempting to gain entrance just before it sensed my presence." Holmes repressed a shudder, trying not to think about what had happened after that.

"From where I'm standing_—_" the Doctor pressed the button on the sonic device, scanning the general area with wide sweeps of his arm_—_"sounds like the smith was your attacker."

"I had a vague suspicion you were going to say that," Holmes said with grim humour.

The Doctor studied the screwdriver gravely; the detective could only imagine what sort of data he was getting from the instrument. "I need to get some DNA scans from inside." Holmes tilted his head, but refrained from asking the obvious question. "Ah, genetic scan," the Doctor explained. "Deoxyribonucleic acid."

The detective nodded, gratified by his colleague's respect for his intelligence. "If I recall correctly, Doctor, that device of yours has no effect on wood. Allow me." Upon receiving the "be-my-guest" gesture, Holmes slipped around to the back of the house. He hadn't used these particular skills in several weeks... It was the work of a few moments to coax the shutters open and climb in.

"Very nice." The Doctor smiled, climbing in through the window after Holmes.

Holmes shrugged. "Nothing simpler, my dear sir." As the Doctor began scanning, the detective took the opportunity to utilise his own methods, making a thorough search of the single room, and not liking what he discovered in the slightest. Brow furrowed in concern, he turned back to the Doctor to find the man looking even more serious.

"I'm getting at least four different genetic traces, here," the Time Lord muttered to himself, seeming to have momentarily forgotten his fellow intruder. "The non-human trace has enough human genes to match up to one of the human traces." He looked up abruptly. "Find anything?"

"It is more a case of what I did not find, Doctor." Holmes hoped he didn't sound as worried as he felt. "The smith had a wife, and she has been away from home for at least twenty-four hours."

The Doctor froze. "Uh-oh... Remote place like this, no chance she'd be away from home for that long of her own free will."

Holmes frowned. "Indeed not. Her disappearance would explain the creature's..." He paused, colouring slightly. "Forgive me, her husband's fury when he returned home. What perplexes me the most is that there is no sign of a struggle, and the door and windows are all fastened from the inside." Locked-room mysteries were nothing new to the detective, but under these peculiar circumstances, he was unwilling to take anything for granted. "What did you find?"

"Well, other than confirming that the smith and your attacker share genetic patterns?" The Time Lord's expression was distant as he peered at his screwdriver again. "One or two... not sure... genetic traces... Aside from the wife's, I mean. Female genes, very easy to read."

Holmes believed he'd understood most of what the Doctor had just told him_—_no easy task, given the way the man rambled. "But can you trace any of these genetic signatures? Something like that must leave a trail."

The Doctor shook his head regretfully. "Bit harder to trace after a snowfall, 'm afraid. Same thing as going into water to lose a bloodhound." He grabbed at his hair and started to pace, muttering to himself. "Think. Think, think!"

Holmes knit his brows, leaning against the wall. "When you frightened the smith away, Doctor, which direction did he go?"

"Ahhh... The Doctor squeezed his eyes shut and pounded the side of his head. "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon..." His eyes flew open again. "East! I mean, sure, it was dark, but I'm almost _positive _he went east!"

The detective gave him a contemplative look. "I could be mistaken, but the man seems to be fighting a battle between his original human nature, and whatever animal instincts have been imposed upon him. His primary instinct has been for the safety of his wife, or he would never have returned to the village the first time, let alone a second."

The Doctor nodded. "Tends to be the case with genetic experiments, yeah."

Holmes had no desire to ask how the man had come by _that_ particular knowledge. "Yet having been thwarted, he has not remained, but in both cases has retreated. If you were in that position, Doctor, what would you do?" The detective spread his hands, inviting speculation. When none came, he continued on. "You would hide until you believed it safe to make another attempt."

His colleague frowned thoughtfully. "I'm following you so far."

Holmes gave him an encouraging nod. "The man has obviously found himself a lair of some sort, and we _are _in the mountains..."

The Doctor stared. "Aaand... what? Go searching every nearby mountain for the right cave? You do know there has to be a million of them around here, right?"

Holmes folded his arms defensively. "Have you any better ideas?"

The Time Lord snorted. "No, but you're talking about a needle-in-a-haystack search in the bloody Himalayas!"

"You exaggerate, Doctor," Holmes shrugged. He, at least, was well accustomed to such physical exercise in this type of terrain. "In any event, can your TARDIS not assist us in the search?"

"No. That's not the way it works." The Doctor inhaled deeply, then expelled slowly. "Hold a mo'. You said... You said the smith would hide until he thought it was safe to make another attempt..." He arched an eyebrow at Holmes.

"I believe so." The detective nodded in understanding. "You mean to wait for him to return?"

"Stake-out sounds better than haystack," the Doctor shrewdly remarked.

"That it does," Holmes replied lightly, trying not to sound relieved at being excused from wading through deep snowdrifts.

"In which case, why don't we head back to the TARDIS? I can park right here and set up the invisibility cloak, and we can watch from the doorway." The Doctor's voice took on a wheedling note. "_Perfect _temperature control."

Holmes' eyes gleamed. "I must confess, I would prefer that approach to attempting to beard the lion in his den, so to speak." He shivered, memories from the previous night resurfacing. "Having learnt firsthand of the man's newly-acquired physical abilities, I would not wish to find out what he would do if cornered..."

The Doctor grimaced. "Ooh, yeah. Best not to one-up on last night_—_you were kind of a mess."

Holmes resisted the urge to wince, opting for a raised eyebrow. "Should I even ask?"

The Time Lord tilted his head theatrically on one side, clearly pretending to think about it. "No. Nope, prob'ly not. C'mon, then..." He patted Holmes on the shoulder. "Back to the TARDIS! We'll be all set in no time!"

Holmes stood back from the open window, courteously allowing his colleague to exit first. He'd be the one barring the shutters behind them again, in any event. "Lead on, Doctor."

* * *

**Author's note from Ria:**

This has to be one of the few times a companion gets their introduction to the TARDIS from the inside; most of them see the outside first. Of course, the Great Detective just has to stand out from the crowd_—_although, admittedly, that was hardly his fault... *blushes* Sorry, Holmes, it couldn't be helped, honest!

I had a most interesting time looking at the TARDIS from Holmes' perspective, figuring out what parallels the Victorian would draw between his new experiences and the life he came from. And there are still plenty of surprises in store for our poor, culture-shocked detective... Stay tuned!

**Author's note from Sky:**

I have to say that, as always, Ria does a fantastic job. When we first chose our roles, I told her that she would have the harder time of the two of us, having to describe all these incredible things through Holmes's eyes. And here, weeks later, she is simply _flourishing_.

I'd like to take a moment now and thank everyone for their reviews, subscriptions, and favorites! It really means a lot to both of us! Reviews, especially, are our bread and butter... and your praise has been highly gratifying!

_**So please continue to review! ;D**_


	5. Chapter 4: Their Reichenbachs

**==Chapter 4== **

**Their Reichenbachs**

_They leave. Because they should. Or they find someone else. And some of them, some of them forget me. I suppose in the end, they break my heart._

The Doctor soon settled the TARDIS in her new location just outside the blacksmith's house, the short flight being the single most wondrous experience of Holmes' acquaintance with him thus far. The way the ship had tilted and shuddered while in transit had been decidedly alarming to begin with, despite the Doctor's offhand warning to "hold on to something", a mere second before throwing the lever on what the Time Lord had termed the "console". He suspected the man was quietly settling the score for his vessel's current infatuation_—_although the detective had slightly curtailed the courtly manners out of respect for his host's bewildering insecurities.

Given the Doctor's energetic nature, Holmes had half expected to endure a largely disagreeable vigil. However, to his great surprise, he found that the man was just as capable of remaining still and silent when the circumstances demanded as he was of springing into action. The detective supposed that the nature of a Time Lord would logically involve a certain amount of serenity, even for one so young_—_he shook his head slightly at the incongruous thought_—_as his alien colleague. Admittedly, their surroundings didn't hamper their objective, either. Holmes had been on many a stakeout in his career, but never in such comfort. Even so, he would willingly have undergone all the privations of his earlier cases a hundred times over for this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity_—_a concept that had taken on a completely new meaning.

Settled in battered leather armchairs on either side of the door (which the Doctor casually informed him had been "rescued" from the study of a Mr. Winston Churchill, whoever he might be), they spent the better part of the first hour staring out into the gathering darkness, each preoccupied by his own thoughts. He was mildly amused, however, by the Doctor's breaking the silence as he lay sprawled over both arms of his chair with the idle comment, "Wish I'd thought to get some popcorn... D'you want some popcorn?"

Holmes quirked an eyebrow, smiling faintly. "A little early in the season, isn't it, Doctor_—_do you often consume Christmas decorations?"

The Doctor gave him a good-natured smirk. "I'll have you know, Holmes, that in the not-too-distant future, people will be eating popcorn purely as a snack." Holmes couldn't quite suppress a snort of laughter at the idea. "Although it's never too early for Christmas, is my philosophy. You wouldn't believe the one I had just recently, back in the twenty-first century!"

"You have me intrigued, sir." Holmes wondered if he would ever understand Time the way the Doctor saw it_—_the best analogy _he_ could think of was of dipping into the timeline of the universe as if returning to the best chapters of a favourite history volume, rather than having to read from beginning to end.

Suddenly, the Time Lord sobered, throwing Holmes an uneasy sideways glance. "Oh, it was nothing, really_—_you know, another day, another save-the-world mission accomplished..."

"Doctor? Are you all right?" Although it didn't take a detective to realise that something was troubling the man deeply.

"Yeeep, just fine." The Doctor gave him a brave smile which did not reach his eyes.

Holmes sighed, disappointed. "You really aren't a very good liar, Doctor..." The man had been relatively open with him before now_—_why the sudden evasion?

The Doctor turned sharply, frowning, the coolness of his voice rivalling the temperature outside. "I beg your pardon?"

The detective smiled sadly. "Something else you and Watson have in common..."

His host's face was a mixture of emotions, offence and compassion vying for supremacy. After a long moment: "I'm not Watson, Holmes." The Doctor's voice was solemn, tinged with sorrow. "I could only ever dream of being that good."

An uncomfortable silence descended, until Holmes cleared his throat awkwardly. "To own the truth, Doctor..." He gave the Doctor a friendly grin. "I believe it has been some time since my last meal_—_popcorn sounds like an excellent notion."

The Doctor smiled back gratefully. "I'll go get us some then. Be right back." He returned a few minutes later with a large bowl. "Aaaall right! 'Ere we are_—_nice an' hot!" He threw himself back into the chair and held the bowl within easy reach for his guest.

Holmes took a handful and chewed experimentally_—_it tasted very similar to what he remembered sampling during one childhood Christmas at home, an experience he had been careful never to repeat. "I can understand somewhat how this will become a popular comestible in the future... although clearly more for the nutritional value rather than the flavour." He shrugged and continued eating, loathe to let any available food go to waste, however bland.

The Doctor frowned at the bowl. "Did I put enough salt and butter in? The taste is supposed to be the thing, not the nutrition..." He sampled a handful. "Mm, noh enough sallh," he mumbled with his mouth full, then swallowed with a sheepish look. "Sorry."

Holmes waved a casual hand_—_he'd seen much worse table manners than that. "No need, Doctor, the last two years have taught me to be far less fastidious..." He shook his head, reluctant to think about what he'd occasionally had to do to find sustenance. "One eats when one can, how one can."

His colleague wore a properly chastised look, eyes full of sympathy. "Never really had to experience that, myself."

The detective smiled ruefully. "Consider yourself fortunate, Doctor..." All at once, he stiffened. His senses were tingling; something was out of place, even more than usual...

The Doctor saw his reaction and snapped to full alert, whispering, "What is it?"

Holmes' eyes gleamed as he slipped off the chair to stand at the doorway, hoping fervently that the Doctor was right about the perception filter, although it was rather late to be worrying about that now. Thankfully, it had stopped snowing some little time ago, allowing him to see much more clearly. "I believe... we are no longer alone."

The Doctor joined him, pulling out the sonic screwdriver and looking all around. Holmes nodded to the east, at a deep shadow by the corner of the last house_—_which was that deep because a large figure was lurking in it... The Time Lord frowned. "Got it." Before Holmes could say a word, he'd slipped out the door and started creeping through the shadows towards the spot the detective had indicated.

"Doctor!" Holmes hissed frantically, realising the next instant that the man was paying no heed whatsoever. Breathing a silent prayer, the detective followed swiftly after, latching onto the Doctor's shoulder and pulling him up short before he could leave the TARDIS's field of protective obscurity. "I realise this isn't the best time to ask, but do you actually have any kind of plan?" Holmes could have kicked himself for the careless oversight_—_he'd been so wrapped up in the wonder of his new situation, he had forgotten to apply one of his most basic professional tenets.

The Doctor flashed him a devil-may-care grin. "Sure I do. Got one of the best men in the world as back-up while I try to talk to our friend. See? Plan."

Holmes shook his head in resignation. "Marvellous..." Then his eyes widened as a horrible thought occurred. "Might I ask just one small question, however?"

The Doctor's eyes narrowed, picking up on Holmes' apprehension. "Yeah?"

"The TARDIS's perception filter... does it also disguise scent?" And Holmes suddenly saw with growing dismay that the shadow had resumed its old proportions_—_where had the smith gone? Considering that this was the man's home town, he suspected he knew the answer...

The Doctor's horrified expression made Holmes' gut start to churn. "Nooo..."

The hair on the back of the detective's neck lifted as a familiar, menacing growl drifted out of the shadows behind them to their left. Trying to remain as still as possible, he breathed urgently, "Doctor, the smith had ample time to note our respective scents during the attack last night_—_and we've both been in his house since!"

"Well, then, it's a good thing we're both long-legged," the Doctor murmured, beginning to turn back towards the open street at a snail's pace.

"Back to the TARDIS?" Assuming they could even reach it in time. "Unless you think he might rip the doors off..." However, that notion was instantly laid to rest as the Doctor gave him a scornful look over his shoulder.

A blood-curdling snarl tore the air, putting an abrupt end to their dialogue.

"_Run_!" the Doctor snapped, and took off down a side street with admirable speed. Holmes lost no time in following, only marginally less terrified than the night before. At least this time he had someone at his back, so to speak, even if it was an alien time-traveller with an alarming inability to control his impulses...

"So what was your back-up plan?" he panted as they zigzagged through the narrow streets, with the enraged behemoth on their trail never more than a few paces behind at best; their sudden changes of direction seemed to be all that was saving them from a grisly demise.

"Ah..."

Holmes's heart sank at the Doctor's sheepish expression, what he could see of it from behind. "Why am I not surprised?"

"Hey! I'll have you know that I'm _very_ good at making up Plan Bs on the run!" the Doctor called back indignantly over his shoulder.

"In that case, Doctor, think of this as your big moment!" Holmes huffed as he ran, lack of breath keeping him from sounding as viciously sarcastic as he would have liked.

"Right then!" The Doctor drew out his screwdriver and held it up while still on the move. "Cover your ears, 'cause this is gonna hurt!" He adjusted the device, holding the button down, and the whining hum started to become painfully loud.

Holmes clapped his hands over his ears without slowing down_—_he was rapidly learning the wisdom of following the Doctor's instructions the moment they were issued. Even covered, his ears were ringing, and he could well imagine what effect the sound must be having on the enhanced senses of their pursuer. He dared to look back over his shoulder for a moment; what he saw made him skid to a halt in the freshly fallen snow, his heart missing a beat. The Doctor was standing still in the middle of the street, a mere two yards from the feral smith, who had clearly broken off his pursuit when the noise overwhelmed his sensitive hearing. The... hybrid was shaking his head, snarling, face contorted in pain.

The Doctor slowly returned the screwdriver to his pocket. "I'm sorry." That simple apology held a world of regret.

The smith seemed to recover slightly, baring his fangs at the Time Lord, but refrained from advancing, wary of whatever new torment might be inflicted next.

"I'm the Doctor. I'm here to help." The Doctor approached the bristling hybrid slowly, hands held out and making "steady" gestures, as if calming a nervous horse. "It's okay. It's okay."

The smith growled, retreating a few paces.

"Shhh... C'mon now. I can help." Holmes could even feel the hypnotic effect of the Doctor's lulling voice from where he was standing. "It's okay. You're okay."

The hybrid snuffed suspiciously at the Doctor, before looking past him to eye Holmes cagily as the detective edged closer.

The Doctor followed the smith's line of vision, then turned back to focus on him. "He's okay, too. It's all right, big fella. It's all right." He reached out with one slow hand.

The smith rumbled in warning, but remained still.

"Tha's it, big fella. It's all right." The Doctor tentatively touched the brute's temple with his fingers parted in a "V" shape. "I just need you to show me what happened, that's all. I can help."

Unexpectedly, the hybrid gave a low, mournful croon, before starting to rock himself back and forth.

With a look of deepest sympathy, the Time Lord closed his eyes and brought his free hand to bear on the smith's other temple. "Shhh, it's okay."

"Doctor," Holmes breathed, "Can I assist at all?"

The Doctor shook his head gently, eyes still closed. "Linking with his mind right now, don't think you can. Just stand by - if he remembers something suddenly, something horrible, it could shock me out of the mind-link."

Holmes nodded anxiously, uncertain of how much help he'd actually be in that instance. "Very well..."

Although unaware of exactly what was occurring between the two over the next minute, the Doctor's concerned frown still told the detective far more than he wished to know. "It's so jumbled in here..." his colleague muttered, sounding oddly distant. Holmes repressed a shudder_—_he could understand that, all too easily... "Think I'm seeing a lab... yeah. A laboratory, and... some kind of symbol..." A pause. "He's so alone..."

The Doctor bowed his head. "We'll find her, okay? We'll find her, and we'll try to turn you back." His face lost its remote expression, and he opened his eyes to gaze mournfully at the smith. "Promise."

The hybrid made a noise that was half a whimper, half a howl, a sound that wrung Holmes' heart with its desolate sadness.

The Doctor carefully removed his hands and stood back. "It'll be all right. It _will_ be."

Holmes came forward slowly to stand beside his colleague, compassion for the plight of the poor brute in front of him overriding what was left of his caution.

"Careful," the Doctor murmured, but with a note of approval in his voice.

The detective slowly reached out and laid his hand on the hybrid's shoulder, looking up into his face_—_what he saw horrified him. "Doctor… His eyes..." Dear God, they were still human! Such profound rage, pain and fear in their depths_—_and yet tempered by the spark of intelligence... The man the smith had been was most certainly still in there. Holmes set his teeth, struggling to keep his own rising fury and nausea in check. "The Doctor speaks the truth, sir. We _will_ find whoever did this..." He turned back to the Doctor, expression grim. "That symbol you saw, Doctor_—_can you draw it?"

The Doctor nodded sadly. "Sure can." He gave the smith what was probably intended to be a reassuring smile. "You just lie low like you've been doing, all right? Don't go back to that man." Holmes pricked up his ears_—_what more had the Doctor seen? "Don't go after him, don't go after your wife. Don't follow us. All right? It'll be okay."

Holmes was not in the least surprised when the smith huffed stubbornly, growling, his opinion of the Doctor's advice clear.

The Time Lord's face was suddenly very authoritative, though just shy of stern. "No. Don't you do it. Not any of it. You keep on hiding, because you don't want your wife to become your widow."

The smith snarled plaintively as Holmes winced at the blatant emotional blackmail.

The Doctor's voice was kind but unyielding. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. Waiting's the hardest thing you can ever do. But you're going to have to."

Holmes realised that the obstinate glint in his colleague's eye was raising his hackles as much as the danger they'd just faced together had done. As bizarre as this situation was, it also felt extremely familiar... He quietly cleared his throat. "Doctor, a word?"

The Doctor glanced at Holmes, then at the smith, then back again. The man's lips thinned_—_no doubt he'd guessed what Holmes wanted to discuss. "Yes..."

They stepped aside a short distance, out of respect for their... client, Holmes supposed was as good a term as any_—_although no doubt the smith would be eavesdropping, anyhow. "Far be it from me to question your judgement, Doctor..." he began hesitantly.

The Doctor sighed. "But you're going to, anyway. What is it?"

Holmes gritted his teeth at the patronising tone and carried on. "Why can the poor devil not at least assist us in locating the laboratory?"

His colleague frowned. "C'mon, Holmes, you ought to know that's not a good idea."

Holmes raised an eyebrow, prepared to do battle. "Enlighten me."

"What if whoever did this to him gets him back? Entirely possible. Somebody holds his wife against him_—_bad hostage situation. Animal nature_—_or even strong human emotion_—_overrides any other considerations in his pretty-jumbled brain and he goes on a rampage? Really bad." The Time Lord exhaled noisily, brow furrowed. "I'm not really seeing any positive outcomes, here."

The detective folded his arms, still unconvinced. "Regardless, Doctor_—_it's his wife, he knows what we're up against far better than we do and, quite frankly, we need all the willing help we can muster."

"No. I'm sorry_—_I'm not risking it." The man gave Holmes his solemn "Time Lord" stare, which might have had the desired effect... had Holmes not seen clearly, if only for the briefest of moments, the raw emotion that lay behind it: a profound, all-consuming terror, which the detective had already glimpsed at the beginning of their partnership...

Holmes sighed and returned the Doctor's stare without flinching. "I believe I owe Watson far more of an apology than I ever thought possible..." he mused aloud, his old regrets_—_half-buried, but by no means forgotten_—_giving his voice a bitter edge.

The Doctor stood unmoving, face set hard, refusing to back down.

Holmes smiled at him sadly. "Do you know why I left Watson behind at Reichenbach, Doctor?" Yet somehow he couldn't imagine his friend including this in any of his future accounts_—_though no actor, the doctor was perfectly able to exercise discretion with a pen, especially on such a delicate matter.

"I might have a fair idea." The Time Lord's expression was still set in stone.

Holmes took a deep breath. "To own the truth, Doctor... I was afraid... afraid that Watson would be hurt, yes_—_or even killed..."

A glimmer of empathy appeared in the Doctor's eyes.

Holmes steeled himself and continued. "But my greatest fear, to my eternal shame, was that _I _would be hurt by his loss..." His voice faded unbidden to an abashed murmur, his eyes downcast; he had never considered making such an admission to anyone before now, not even Watson. "And have to live with that sorrow for the rest of my days..."

The Doctor's voice cut across Holmes' abruptly, sharp with anger. "Don't be ashamed of that. Don't you ever be ashamed of that, because it _does_ hurt. It hurts so... _insanely_..." The man's torment was now plainly written on his face_—_and Holmes could see clearly that his colleague's struggle to rein in his emotional turmoil was hurting him even more.

He gently clasped the Doctor's shoulder. "But what I failed to understand at the time, Doctor, was that I was only exchanging one pain for another. And when Watson and I do finally reunite..." A promise that, however foolishly, he was gradually coming to accept as a fact. "I will have to look my closest friend in the face, and see the hurt and betrayal growing in his eyes when he realises that I did not trust or respect him enough to allow him to make his own choice."

The Doctor backed away from the contact, his voice anguished. "You show somebody something amazing and you keep on showing it to them, they'll stay with you. They always do. You take that choice away from them the moment you let them see something that makes their eyes shine." The man was shaking from head to foot, his eyes filling with tears, although he was trying desperately to hold them back. "It only destroys them in the end. It always does..."

Uncertain of what to do, but equally unwilling to stand idly by, Holmes stepped forward, putting both hands on the Doctor's shoulders. "And what of your companions, Doctor? Do you truly believe that they would say the same? For my part..." He looked the Doctor in the eye steadily. "I know that _I_ would not." And, considering the Time Lord's thirst for intelligent companionship, he couldn't envisage the man surrounding himself with fools who had no conception of what they were letting themselves in for. Whatever choices his former travelling companions had made, Holmes was certain that they had chosen freely, with eyes wide open to the possibilities. Why could the Doctor not understand that?

The Doctor stared at Holmes through his tears, aghast. "Of course, you wouldn't, and neither would they! That's just it! Every person I have ever gotten close to... I've killed. Directly or indirectly, but I've killed them. As much as if I'd really pulled the trigger... I... she..." His eyes widened in dawning horror. "Oh God, and I was going to... I was going to ask you... I was going to offer..." His voice cracked. "When am I ever going to stop? _Why_ can't I stop?"

Suddenly, the Doctor buried his face in his hands and began to weep, body wracked with shuddering, wrenching sobs. Casting his own discomfort aside, Holmes wrapped both arms around the man's shoulders and held him firmly as the Time Lord's deep sorrow finally took possession of him, clinging to the detective as a drowning man would a life preserver.

After a few minutes, the storm in Holmes' arms seemed to ebb a little. He took the opportunity to unwind his scarf and offer it to the Doctor, who tried to take a step backwards on trembling legs, and almost collapsed. Holmes swiftly placed his colleague's arm around his shoulders and half supported, half carried him to where a few snow-covered wooden crates stood under the eaves of a nearby house. Scraping the snow off, Holmes settled them both onto the makeshift bench, putting his arms back around the Doctor as he folded in on himself again.

The Time Lord's hiccoughing sobs gradually subsided, and he grew slightly calmer, wiping his face with the scarf. "I haven't..." His breath hitched. "I haven't told you about Rose." He glanced sideways at Holmes, but the detective merely nodded patiently, willing to let the Doctor take however long he needed. "I lost her. She's not dead, but I lost her. And I can never see her again."

The Doctor drew a quavering breath. "I tried to... tried to get her to go. Once. Tried it a second time. She came back both times." His hands gripped the scarf tightly, knuckles whitening. "Almost died the first. Almost spent an eternity screaming at silence the second. Would have, if it hadn't been for one, last-minute miracle that left her alive... but on the wrong side of Time and Space. And I can't... I'll never see her again..." His face crumpled, and he curled into Holmes' embrace like a small child, tears flowing anew.

The despair in the man's voice made Holmes' own heart ache. "Doctor... I... I am so sorry..." A completely inadequate thing to say, perhaps, but it was all he could think of. "I wish I had the words..."

The Doctor looked up at Holmes for the first time since he broke down. His tear-streaked face was bereft of all its usual optimism and confidence_—_he simply looked lost and broken, and terribly lonely. "When this is over, you have to leave. I'll ask you to come with me_—_I know I will. I don't want to be alone. Alone hurts like hell. But you'll have to go. And I won't try to meet Watson, either."

Holmes smiled sadly. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, Doctor, unlikely as that seems... I would have said 'no' in any case."

The Doctor nodded, brushing away the fresh tears that spilled down his cheeks. "Okay, then... okay." He bowed his head, shoulders drooping.

"Not from a lack of desire, you understand," Holmes hastened to reassure him. In fact, he had been sorely tempted to ask to stay. "But I do have an unfinished task ahead of me_—_on the long road." And, according to the expert beside him, completing that task was of universal importance.

"I understand..." The Doctor gulped back his sobs, trying to breathe normally again. "It's okay. You've got your own life. That's good. It's a good one, it really is."

The detective nodded, sighing ruefully. "One whose blessings I did not truly appreciate until I could no longer return to it."

The Time Lord gave him a watery smile. "The brilliant thing is that you _can_. You can return to it, and you can appreciate it... and you're going to. If you don't, I _swear_ I'll whisk you away and drop you off in the middle of the Sontaran Army or something and leave you there. See how you like that." He grinned shakily.

Holmes smiled back, greatly relieved to see the man beginning to look more like himself. "Only with Watson and his service revolver at my side."

"What?" The Doctor looked horrified at the thought. "Not poor Watson_—_that'd be ridiculous! The Sontarans would drive him nuts..." The man's breath was finally starting to even out, becoming slower and deeper. "'Sides, he'd have to shoot... back of the neck... only weak point..." He blinked drowsily. "Feel like I could actually... I dunno, fall asleep... Can't remember the last time I cried that hard..."

Holmes peered closely at the Doctor, the signs of extreme exhaustion all too apparent now that he was looking for them. "And when was the last time you slept, Doctor?" A question he recalled asking Watson many times, usually when the man was swamped with patients during an epidemic of one sort or another. As for the number of times Watson had asked _Holmes_ that question...

"Dunno. Not in a long time... not sure how long..." The Doctor wavered, looking very much as if he were about to fall over where he sat. "The screams usually wake me up again, anyway... Oh." His heavy eyes widened in surprise as he realised he was resting his head on Holmes's shoulder. "Oh, tell me... Tell me I'm not about to pass out... I don't... I can't go to sleep." He gave a Holmes a scared look, resembling a little boy more than ever. "Can't..."

Holmes smiled kindly. "Our positions have reversed themselves, Doctor, it seems." He carefully gathered his weary colleague up into his arms, cradling him.

"Don't wanna... go..." The Doctor was fighting a losing battle, already half-conscious.

Holmes strengthened his hold on his charge. "Don't be afraid, Doctor," he murmured soothingly. "You will not be alone, I promise." Somehow, those feeble words seem to reassure the exhausted man, who nestled closer, tousled head coming to rest under the detective's chin as he drifted down into sleep. Holmes stood slowly, shaking his head in concern at how light his slumbering passenger really was; the Time Lord seemed little more than skin, bone and whipcord muscle. At least carrying the Doctor back to his ship would be easy enough_—_there was nothing else that could be done until the morning, anyhow.

Holmes stiffened in chagrin as he suddenly remembered their reason for being there in the first place, and looked over to where they had left the smith. He wasn't surprised to find the hybrid had long since departed, most likely whilst they had been arguing. The tracks he'd left behind were clear, but following them with the Doctor in his current state was out of the question. Sending up a silent prayer to whoever might be listening that no more snow would fall before dawn, Holmes set off through the quiet streets towards the TARDIS, who was probably worried sick about the pair of them by now.

The detective was relieved to find that they'd left the door ajar_—_he maneuvered the sleeping Doctor carefully through the opening. The light level in the control room dimmed still further as they entered, but there was a flurry of twinkling lights and beeps from the console. The TARDIS's fussing reminded Holmes somewhat of Mrs. Hudson, though the good widow had never shown any kind of romantic leanings towards her exasperating lodger... He scanned the room for a suitable place to lay the Doctor down, but the best he could find was the armchairs they'd been using during the stakeout.

"I never thought to ask the man if he had a bedroom," he muttered, gently settling the Doctor into the nearest chair_—_fortunately it was a wingback, giving him a place to rest his head. "_Does_ he ever sleep?" the detective asked aloud without thinking.

A sad twittering came from the console.

Holmes removed his parka_—_he wouldn't be needing it in here_—_and tucked it around the Doctor before settling into the second armchair. Despite his recent exertions, he really wasn't ready to sleep himself yet, although a rest would certainly not go amiss. Besides, he had essentially promised the Doctor that he would watch over him while he slept_—_if the Time Lord's nightmares were anything like Watson's memories of Maiwand...

"You must have seen this sort of thing more often than you care to remember," he mused in commiseration. "And you remember everything..."

Mournful notes from the TARDIS console.

"You worry about him, don't you?"

A flutter of dissonant beeps.

The detective smiled warmly. "Does he truly know, I wonder, how fortunate he is to have you?" Without this one constant in his life, this incredible anchor in the storm, the Doctor would surely have met his final demise a long time ago_—_a concept Holmes could appreciate only too well.

A burst of assertive beeps... then sad whistles.

Holmes sighed. "Yes_—_he did tell me. The poor man..." He cast a sympathetic look towards the sleeping Time Lord. The lines on the Doctor's face had smoothed out to a certain extent, but the echoes of anguish would never be completely erased.

More mournful notes.

Holmes shook his head regretfully. "And I believed I had problems..."

Deprecatory beeps and bloops.

His lips quirked at the derisive sentiment. "True, this case has definitely helped to put certain things into perspective."

The TARDIS twittered thoughtfully, and the detective was pleasantly surprised to hear music_—_Weber's _Euryanthe_, unless he was much mistaken_—_emanating from the console.

Holmes smiled, touched by the gesture. "Do you know any Wagner?"

* * *

**Author's note from Ria:**

And now you know why we chose for those two to meet when and where they did. Holmes having to leave Watson behind in Switzerland, and the Tenth Doctor being parted from Rose... their situations have a great deal in common and we wanted to explore that emotional dynamic in depth.

To those wondering why the Doctor broke down like that, remember that it's only been the equivalent of two days since he said farewell to the woman he loved at Bad Wolf Bay, and Donna appeared in the TARDIS. When has he had the opportunity to let his guard down? And, of course, Holmes being the perceptive (nosy) man that he is, sensing the Doctor had issues which might affect the case, he would definitely keep on digging until he found the reason... although he's now wishing he hadn't!

**Author's note from Sky:**

First off, I've gotta say that this one is my favorite chapter. Favorite chapter, favorite title, favorite opening quote. I feel that Ria and I were really on top of our game here and lovin' it. Then again, these deeply emotional heart-to-hearts seem to be a trademark of the two of us, so...

The way the chapter was born was amusing. I gave Ria the line when the Doctor asks Holmes if he wants popcorn, and she went back and built up the chapter opening to that point. Popcorn. It just sounded very Ten!

I think the first time I really froze in writing Ten was when Holmes said that the Doctor wasn't a good liar. I mean, _golly—_that's really calling him out! But Ria pressed on and gave me the line about Watson, and I was able to play off of that.

Ah, good grief, I could really give you a running commentary of this chapter! Like I said, it's my favorite! But I'll exercise impressive self-restraint and suggest that you stay tuned... 'cos our boys are going to the library and we're finally going to find out what in the world is going on in Lhasa!

_**Please review!**_


	6. Chapter 5: An Ancient History

**==Chapter 5==**

**An Ancient History**

_So history's happening and we're stuck here._

The first thing he was aware of was a long, thin hand on his shoulder, shaking it gently. A posh tenor saying, "Doctor?"

He jerked to full consciousness, crying, "What, what?!" He caught sight of a thin, aquiline face and relaxed. "Oh! Hello, Holmes!" He smiled, then winced at the sudden pangs in his neck. "Owww. Neck," he added for clarification. "Ouch." He started rubbing it, well used to giving himself massages…

Then his brain caught up with him, and he stopped, frowning. "Was I sleeping? Did I pass out?"

"To be fair," Holmes replied softly, "you did say it had been a long time since you'd last gotten any rest."

The Doctor started massaging his neck again, still frowning. "Well, yeah, but I _passed out_. Not in the cards. Not in mine, anyway… Owww."

"Doctor, you were exhausted," Holmes pointed out. "You shouldn't be so hard on yourself, and I do not mean merely your emotional state—your TARDIS had quite a lot to… convey on that subject. She worries about you." He shook his head. "And Watson nagged _me_ about having proper care for my health. Were he ever to meet you, I would seem a hypochondriac by comparison."

The Doctor giggled slightly, highly amused at the image his mind presented. "The TARDIS is always worried about me," he said easily, "and I'm always worried about her. Mutually concerned relationship." As he rolled his neck, he noted Holmes briefly looking nostalgic.

"Well," Holmes ventured, "if you feel yourself sufficiently recovered, sir… We have work to do."

The Doctor blinked. "Sir?" Honestly, who called him "sir" these days? "Right, lab to find…" Then the rest of last night's events caught up with him. "What happened to the smith?"

Sherlock Holmes actually looked _sheepish_. "I am not certain—he slipped away while we were talking. Although I have my suspicions about where he was headed…"

The Doctor sighed, his good mood fading. "Is this the part where I say 'uh-oh'? 'Cos I kind of feel like it ought to be."

Then again, Holmes probably wouldn't even _know_ the word "uh-oh". Still, he seemed to get the idea, because he said, "That very well could be the case. Thankfully, however, it has not snowed since he left and his tracks are plainly visible."

"Least there's that," the Doctor conceded, frowning. "Gah, if I hadn't decided to have a nervous breakdown, we wouldn't have lost him!" Frustrated with himself, the Time Lord jumped to his feet. "C'mon—maybe if we're very, very lucky, he hasn't got far yet."

Holmes retrieved his coat, hastening to say, "That is most unlikely, Doctor. Our client has a start on us of at least six hours. And there is information from last night which you have yet to divulge."

"Six hours?! Bloody…" The Doctor gripped his hair hard, not sure whether he was trying to punish himself or keep from exploding. Maybe both. How could he let himself… He exhaled equally hard and refocused his attention on Holmes. "Information?" He rubbed the bridge of his nose, taking measured breaths. "Sorry, refresh my memory?"

"When you connected with the smith's mind," Holmes said patiently, bless him, "you mentioned some sort of symbol. Can you still recall what it looked like?"

"Symbol, right." The Doctor nodded. "Yeah, absolutely. Ah…" He began a less-than-systematic search of his coat, muttering, "Paper, paper, paper…" He couldn't be like normal people, could he? Normal people had important stuff, like paper, more easily accessible than, say, a yo-yo, a few candy bars… Well, maybe the candy bars. But not a deck of cards, not unless a person was a gambler, in which case they wouldn't be normal, unless they lived in any of the number of places in the universe that were veritable gambling dens…

CD case… _Sherlock Holmes for Dummies_… Oops. He paused, glanced up at Holmes, and grinned sheepishly at the slanted eyebrow he got. "Ahhh… Paper," was all he could say. He ducked his head back down to look at what he was actually rummaging through, even if the damage had already been done.

A few seconds later, he heard Holmes's voice above him, sounding intrigued. "Your coat pockets would seem to have something in common with your vessel, Doctor. I am sorely tempted to ask the name of your tailor."

"Time Lord secret," the Doctor replied, shooting back up long enough to wink. "Sorry." He started to rummage deeper… "Aw, c'mon!" He bent down further to stick his head inside. "AH-HA!" He shot back up out of the pocket, beaming, pad in hand. "Got it! Now… pencil…" Mercifully, the pencil was easily accessible. He pulled out his brainy specs, put them on, and focused on the pad, imagining the symbol taking shape on the paper before drawing it… And then he started.

"Might I inquire as to the purpose of the spectacles, Doctor? You certainly do not seem to suffer from myopia."

Oh, great. "Ah…" The Doctor shrank down a bit, as if it could conceal him from the detective's sharp eyes and sharper mind. _Please, Holmes, don't deduce this one!_ He hazarded a glance and found his guest looking amused. _Here it comes_…

"You don't need them at all, do you?"

The abashed Time Lord focused even harder on drawing. "'Course I do! I need them, to, ah…"

"Appear more intellectual?" Holmes suggested, a hint of laughter in his tone. "Hardly necessary, Doctor."

The Doctor gaped. "Seriously?! That is not even…"

Holmes shook his head, smiling.

"Somewhere over nine hundred years and _nobody_ has _ever_ even _tried_ to figure out the glasses…"

Holmes bowed. "Elementary, my dear Doctor."

The Doctor paused in his rant as a thought occurred to him. "Y'think it works?"

The detective shrugged. "I would assume so, considering you have not yet abandoned the artifice—if it had largely failed to impress your intended audience, you would hardly continue to use it."

The Doctor shrugged with his eyebrows. "Well, like I said, nobody's ever thought to figure it out, not even when I wear 3-D glasses to look at…" He caught himself before his mind went too far into that very recent event… "Never mind." He proffered over the sketchpad with its finished symbol. "Here."

One look at the symbol, and Holmes's grey eyes widened.

"You've seen this before?!" the Doctor cried.

The detective definitely looked concerned. "I have, indeed, Doctor—we have a detour to make before tracking the smith."

The Time Lord sighed. "'S always something. All right, where?"

"The university at Sera Monastery—I came across this symbol while doing research in the library, though I cannot immediately recall the context."

"All right," the Doctor said slowly, mulling it over. "That's good, though. This is obviously alien, but it's not a symbol I'm familiar with."

"Can we fly the TARDIS up there? I fear the path will be impassable after all this snow, and time is of the essence."

The Doctor cast a worried glance at his girl's console. "I'm not sure… Flew her inside linear time just recently and she had serious issues with it." Enough that she had to sit for a few hours before getting him back out of the 21st century… "Whaddayou think, old girl?"

The console flared to life in a burst of light and sound.

The Time Lord smiled fondly. "Tha's my girl." He turned to Holmes and said, "All right, I'll be getting the outside cam going. Just point me in the right direction and, for heaven's sake, hold on tight."

Holmes immediately reached for the nearest solid object, the opposite side of the console. The viewscreen above the console switched on, the camera providing a slow, rotating view around the TARDIS.

"All right, where are we headed?"

"Northeast, up the mountain pass."

"Right." The Doctor tampered with the console briefly—forgoing the mallet since Holmes was around—and pulled down the lever. "_Allons-y_!"

His girl made her beautiful _VWOOOORP-VWOOOOORP_… and then came the short-outs. Sparks flying, different bits of machinery going out one by one… and the TARDIS seemingly trying to toss them around as she made her linear journey. "Ohhh, c'mon, honey!" the Doctor urged. "Come on!"

"Why," Holmes shouted over the noise, "is there always such turbulence during a flight?"

"For starters, TARDISes were designed to be flown by a crew of six!" the Doctor replied. "That's why you have the radial console! _Plus_, they're not meant to be flying like a normal space ship through linear time and space—doing that's putting a strain on her engines!" A line of short-outs emphasised his point.

The Doctor clung to the console less in the need to be stable and more as an embrace. "Come on, sweetheart, you can do it! Once this is over, I'll take you to the Cardiff Rift to fuel up, I promise!"

Holmes patted the console with one hand. "Courage, madam."

The Doctor flashed his new companion a grateful smile, which quickly faded back into open concern. "Almost there…"

There was a massive lurch as the TARDIS landed, flinging Holmes to the floor and the Doctor on top of the console. "Owww," he moaned, face-down on the board. "Whoever's not dead, just let me know."

A faint whistle sounded below him.

"I believe I am still in one piece," came Holmes's voice. "Are you hurt, Doctor?"

Still plastered atop the console, the Doctor said, "Nope, nope, we're good here." He gave Holmes the thumbs-up as he unstuck his face from the console. "Ow." He pushed himself up slowly to a sitting position. "Owww." _I must be getting old_… He winced, then slid off.

Holmes frowned in concern, an expression he was wearing a bit too often. The man needed to learn how to loosen up… "You don't sound very convincing, sir."

"Maybe that's because _I'm_ not very convinced," the Doctor said grumpily, "and enough with the 'sir,' all right? Makes you sound like UNIT…" He arched his back to crack it, and noted Holmes wincing at the sound. "Owoooo, much better."

"Very well," Holmes said equitably. "Let us proceed."

"Right." The Doctor turned back to the console. "We'll be back in a bit." His girl chirped back, and he grimaced. "Yeeeaaah, sorry, we kind of have to." She twittered further, and he nodded sympathetically. "Yeah, I know, I think the designers were stupid, too. I'll see you later, honey."

Holmes cracked the door open and peered out, and the Doctor rose on tiptoes to look over the detective's head. "Ah… I gather, Doctor," Holmes said slowly, "that the TARDIS's perception filter is not quite so effective while in linear flight."

"Nooo," the Doctor murmured, taking in all the monks gathered around and eying his ship warily. "No, it's not…"

Holmes nodded at them. "We would appear to have attracted some attention."

The Doctor took a deep breath. "Riiiight. Well…" Nothing else for it. Best not to beat around the bush with these things… He stepped right out and gave a friendly wave. "Hello!" He smiled his best innocent-and-happy-to-be-here smile. "I'm the Doctor."

Holmes stepped out and did a fast survey. "Oh dear, it looks as if we've caused some damage—I am certain that dragon statue had a head the last time I saw it."

The Doctor glanced over his shoulder and winced. "Oops."

Holmes shook his head, then apparently recognised one person in the little crowd. "Ah, Lao-Tse, our deepest apologies…" And it was at that point that he must have realised his attempt at Mandarin really was sounding English, because he frowned and simply stopped.

In a less-serious situation, the Doctor would have laughed. Now, however, he simply grimaced and rubbed at his nose. "Here we go…" He straightened up and addressed—Lao-Tse?—directly. "I am _so_ sorry for any damage we've caused in coming up here. I'm a friend of Mr. Sigerson's, here, I was in the area, and I thought it would be nice to visit your university."

Lao-Tse blinked, still stunned, then seemed to recover, bowing.

The Doctor whispered to Holmes, "I forget—am I supposed to bow back?"

"Indeed," Holmes whispered back, "though a handshake would also be acceptable."

"Great, thanks," the Doctor said sincerely, opting for the latter. He strode over, proffering his hand and smiling charmingly. "The Doctor, at your service."

Lao-Tse shook the hand cautiously, smiling. "It is an honour to meet you, Doctor, despite the unusual circumstances."

"Oh, the honour's all mine!" the Doctor assured him. "I've heard good things about your monastery and your university."

The Tibetan tilted his head. "You also are here to study?"

"Yes, I am. Bit intrigued, you might say."

Holmes retrieved the drawing pad from his coat pocket. "Lao-Tse, we came across something curious while in Lhasa." He held up the pad to reveal the symbol. "I remember seeing this while in the library. Do you recognise it at all?"

The Doctor winced again, hoping that the blatant revelation wouldn't blow up in their faces. _Aw, heck with it_. He let his brighter, more enthusiastic persona slide and added, "It's very important. Could mean life or death for a man."

"It is not a symbol I am familiar with," the monk said solemnly. "But let us return to the library. I will do my best to assist you."

"Thank you," said the Doctor. "We'd very much appreciate that."

"Follow me, then."

* * *

"Lao-Tse, have there been any strangers or strange happenings around here in the last year or so?" The Doctor paused and glanced at Holmes, then continued as they were led to the library. "Not visitors—well, maybe visitors—but more like… odd people taking up residence around here?"

"This university attracts many visitors, Doctor, most of whom have customs that seem outlandish to us," the monk said reasonably. "Can you be more specific?"

The Doctor sucked in his breath—what kind of traits does one list for a mad scientist? "Ahh… People who… maybe rub your instincts the wrong way. Maybe they openly act unsavoury, or maybe they seem fair but feel foul."

Holmes arched an eyebrow but said nothing, apparently content to let his Time Lord colleague take the lead. Colleagues with the Great Detective… the Doctor liked the sound of that.

Lao-Tse's brow furrowed. "I do not know. However, if the person you are seeking is connected to this symbol, that may shed some more light." And with that, they reached the library entrance. "We shall see. Enter, please."

"Thank you." The Doctor stepped in and smiled, drinking in the sight of so much knowledge, history, and philosophy tucked away at the top of the world. "Lovely place…" He turned to Holmes and leaned in close. "Even millennia later, when paper has long been outdated, the human race is still in love with the smell and the feel of printed books."

Holmes nodded slowly. "That is somewhat reassuring, I must admit." He glanced around, grey eyes flitting from one direction to another with a speed the Doctor didn't often see in human eyes. The detective frowned and muttered, "The problem is, I was researching a plethora of subjects…"

The Doctor laughed quietly. "Why am I not surprised?"

Holmes's expression cleared. "However, rather than stumble around in the dark…" He turned and headed for the main desk.

"Brilliant deduction," the Doctor murmured dryly.

The head librarian looked up as the two men approached, and bowed. "Good day, Mr. Sigerson. How may I assist you today?"

Holmes bowed in return. "Good day, Shen Ji. While visiting Lhasa, my associate and I encountered a certain symbol, which I remember seeing while I was last in here. However, I cannot recall which scroll I was reading at the time." He showed the Tibetan the drawing and added, "Any assistance you can offer…"

Shen Ji's eyes widened in recognition. "Where did you see this symbol?"

Holmes shivered slightly, his expression grave. "I assure you, sir, you would not wish to know."

Not even—or perhaps, _especially_—Holmes would wish to know what exactly the Doctor's "sight" of that symbol felt like.

The librarian stood, looking worried. "Follow me. I know the scroll to which you refer." He took less than a minute to find them the right section, shelf, and scroll.

Lao-Tse, who had hovered behind, now frowned. "Shen Ji, these scrolls are all on mythology." He turned to Holmes and said, "Forgive me, Mr. Sigerson, but I did not think you would place stock in such things. What legend could possibly endanger a man's life?"

Shen Ji placed the scroll on the nearest table and began to unroll carefully. "You have yet to learn, young one," he admonished his colleague. "All legends have a kernel of truth in them somewhere…"

"He's right," the Doctor said gravely. "In fact, unless you have proof that a legend _isn't_ real, it's usually just better to assume that it _is_." Given that, in a previous lifetime, he'd quite literally been Merlin… "A life might depend on it."

"I believe, Mr. Sigerson," the librarian said, equally gravely, "that this is what you are seeking." He pointed to _the_ symbol, which was itself part of a complex illustration on the parchment. "What the symbol itself signifies, no-one knows—it is in no language we have ever encountered."

Very thoroughly ignoring Holmes, the Doctor put on his glasses and studied the page. Eight fierce-looking figures, human and non-human…

"Aren't those the Eight Guardians?" Lao-Tse mused.

The Doctor glanced away from image to the text nearby… Eyes going wide, he sucked in a long breath. _That makes all the difference. All the difference in Time and Space_… Unable to say what he wanted to in English, with the two monks flanking him and Holmes, he opted for French (one non-Anglo language he _did_ know, thank you very much). "I know these guardians," he said grimly. "Not personally, but I do know who they are. They're Time Lords."

* * *

**Author's note from Sky:**

The Eight Guardians and the threat that's to be elaborated upon in the following chapter—Ria's genius. That's why I call this episode her baby. ;)

I would like to mention that the pockets search was very fun to write, as was the bit about the brainy specs. _Sherlock Holmes for Dummies_ was definitely my favorite part—I couldn't resist! And while we're on the subject of humor, I _loved_ Holmes noticing that the TARDIS had knocked off the statue.

Also, this is yet another chapter that had to be split into two parts, thanks to the length. I realize that this story has been rather slow in pacing, and I'm afraid it's only going to pick up for two or three chapters, but... Hey, it is introductory. And I suppose it does set the tone of this series, which is less about the adventures and more about character development: for the Doctor, for Holmes, for Watson... and for a couple of surprise characters!

_**Stay tuned, and please review!**_


	7. Chapter 6: Nightmares from the Past

**==Chapter 6==**

**Nightmares from the Past**

_But I've heard you talk about your people like they're wonderful._

Holmes raised both eyebrows and followed the Doctor's lead, responding in French. "It would seem you are not the only one of your people with a fascination for this planet, Doctor."

"Right, and that worries me," the Doctor said quietly. "The Time Lords almost _never_ 'interfered' with Earth—not for millennia, anyway, long before my time. And _eight_ of them concentrated on one remote point…" That was a very scary thought.

In English, Holmes said, "Shen Ji, what is this legend?"

Shen Ji looked down at the scroll. "These eight figures, Mr. Sigerson, they are the guardians of Buddhism, according to our people. The legend tells of demonic beings that threatened to cover the land in darkness—but the guardians were able to join forces to lock them away, back into the underworld from whence they had come. This central symbol represents the sealed door which prevents their return to this mortal realm."

The Doctor went very still at that pronouncement. "What if the door were opened? What if those demons were released once more?"

Shen Ji gave him a long, meaningful, and very mute look.

The Doctor raised an eyebrow, muttering, "Ask a stupid question, get a mute answer."

Lao-Tse stepped forward. "And you say you have seen this symbol recently, Doctor?"

"I have. Almost a word-of-mouth thing… Is there anywhere outside this university that someone might see that symbol?" The Doctor glanced at Shen Ji, who had a distant, remembering look in his eye.

"What you ask of me, Doctor—I greatly regret that I did not recall earlier—there was another man asking much the same questions, less than a year ago."

The Doctor frowned. _Bingo_. "What was he like?"

The librarian's brows drew together. "About my height, I believe, thin and pale, with black hair and brown eyes… Those eyes…"

It was always the eyes, wasn't it? The Doctor leaned forward. "What about his eyes?"

"There was a hunger in them, Doctor… There was a deep chasm in his soul that demanded to be filled, and never would be."

The Doctor arched an eyebrow, recalling the smith's memories—the librarian's description fit their man. "I've seen…" He paused, took a deep breath, and considered— "A very dangerous man, then."

Shen Ji nodded gravely. "I hope never to encounter such a one again."

"I hope you never do," the Doctor said grimly.

"But did he find what he sought?" Holmes interjected. "Shen Ji, this is very important—what did you tell him about this symbol, this legend?"

"I told him exactly what I have told you, Mr. Sigerson, no more… And if there is another place where this symbol can be found, it exists outside of my knowledge or any of the manuscripts here." He shook his head sorrowfully. "Whether he obtained the answers he was seeking, I know not—the man left the monastery that same day, and we have had no word of him since. But one thing is certain, as I said to him then: if one goes seeking shadows, one will inevitably find them…"

Which, of course, the Doctor knew was all too true.

Holmes turned to him abruptly, switching back to French. "The man Shen Ji just described, Doctor—I would assume he is the same man you saw in the smith's memories."

"That's him, all right," the Doctor said gravely. "The memories were pretty ugly, too, though that's only to be expected, given what he did to the smith…"

Holmes arched an aristocratic eyebrow. "A subject on which you have yet to elaborate, Doctor… but that is not a discussion for this setting. It would appear that we have exhausted all lines of inquiry here."

The Doctor held up a hand. "Half a mo', Mr. Sigerson. Shen Ji, might I borrow this manuscript?"

Shen Ji looked at him—really _looked_ at him—and the Doctor felt that he was being scrutinized within an inch of his 6'2". Then the librarian nodded slowly.

"Thanks," the Time Lord said gratefully. "I'll return it soon and in top condition, I promise."

"Please do, Doctor: that is an irreplaceable document," Shen Ji said solemnly. "I hope you appreciate the trust I am placing in you."

"I do," the Doctor said with equal solemnity. Mankind had two kind of heroes: the bold, death-defying ones like Holmes, and the quiet ones like Shen Ji who would maybe never face death in their lives but were no less heroic for it. "I wouldn't be asking this unless it were… critically important."

"I believe you, Doctor." The librarian's face was grave. "I am no seer, but even I can sense the shadows that lie ahead of you. May Buddha smile upon your endeavours." Both monks bowed.

"And upon yours." The Doctor bowed, and Holmes followed suit.

* * *

"Aawwll right," the Time Lord drawled once they were back out in the bright sunlight. "Let's see what we've got here…" He opened up the manuscript and smiled sadly. "This is beautiful—I haven't seen Gallifreyan in a long time." He frowned, perplexed. "Although… this is _recent_ Gallifreyan… I mean, it's the language… style… thing… that got into use _after_ I was born."

"Why is that so surprising to you, Doctor?" Holmes wondered. "You are, after all, a millennium old." The Doctor had it on the tip of his tongue to remind Holmes that he was still fairly _young_ as Time Lords went, especially in a billion-year-old culture. But the human went on to say, rather hesitantly: "Though I am aware that there is much you have not told me about your past… or why… Gallifrey?—is no longer your home."

"Gallifrey is gone, Holmes, all right?" the Doctor said curtly. He focused his physical vision hard on the parchment before him, trying to drown out what his mind's eye saw. "Destroyed at the end of…" He stopped as he came across something all too familiar and sucked in his breath. _Not good. Really… not good_.

Holmes stepped closer, laid his hand on the Doctor's shoulder. "Forgive me, Doctor. I… I cannot even imagine how that must feel." He gestured at the scroll. "It is not my wish to distress you, my dear sir, and I am all too aware that there is a great deal more to this than you would wish to divulge."

He stepped out directly in front of the Doctor and spread his hands entreatingly. "But I ask you, Doctor: how I am to aid you effectively if you will not confide in me?"

The Doctor met his gaze fully, using the man before him as an anchor to keep the memories from drowning him as they had the night before. "If only you knew, Holmes…" He smiled bitterly—he never had told Rose, either, what exactly he had done at the end of the Time War. Only that one Dalek had known… And Sherlock Holmes could never know. He would be justly horrified. He would want nothing more to do with a man who destroyed his own world. "I'm sorry, I can't… I… I just can't.

"But this…" He indicated the scroll, and fear of possibilities was replaced by fear of the past… and apparently, the immediate future. "This is part of the Time War. These Time Lords… they were holding just one of _thousands_ of frontlines. That man, whoever he is, is trying to unleash one of the _real_ abominations created near the end of the War. This isn't just about _this_ world, anymore—we've got the entire universe now hanging in the balance…" He broke into a run for the TARDIS, calling over his shoulder, "Come on!"

He reached his front door and looked over his shoulder, to find Holmes just reaching him. "The man we are seeking—does he have any notion of what he is about to unleash?"

The Doctor considered that a moment. "If he does," he said in a low tone, "may whatever forces he believes in have mercy on his soul." He very much ignored Holmes's ensuing shiver and threw open the TARDIS door, striding in. "Honey, I'm home."

She chirped worriedly.

"We've got a mad scientist to find, old girl—that's what's going on."

More worried chirps.

Holmes frowned. "She sounds decidedly anxious, Doctor—is she sufficiently rested to help us track the smith?"

Further chirping, not half as worried this time.

The Doctor turned to Holmes to translate. "She's already picked up on what's happening from my thoughts. She'll push herself as hard as she has to. All her sisters are dead alongside the Time Lords—she has every reason to stop this man."

The Great Detective looked horrified, and properly so. A TARDIS as a one-of-a-kind machine could be a wonder, but a TARDIS as a last-of-her-kind machine was a tragedy.

"I'm sorry," the Doctor said softly. "This is _not_ the kind of 'adventure' I'd choose to share with _anyone_. This is going to be very, very ugly."

Sherlock Holmes smiled grimly. "Is this your subtle way of telling me to leave, Doctor?" He clenched his jaw and warned, "I have no intention of being left behind."

The Doctor frowned solemnly. "Oh, trust me—I'm not that subtle when I tell people to leave, and I know you too well to make the attempt in your case. But I do _have_ to warn you, Sherlock Holmes—whatever you're about to see, you're never going to be able to… _un_-see it. Any war is horrific, but this one… The nightmares it spawned… you're never able to forget it."

Holmes nodded in understanding. "I have known my share of nightmares, Doctor, believe me. The human heart is just as capable of spawning horrors as great as any alien life you care to name."

The Doctor smiled sadly. "I think you'll have to excuse me for not being able to believe that latter bit."

"Work a case or two in London's slums before you call me a liar, Doctor."

The Doctor flinched at memories of mankind at its lowest… "How do you know that I haven't?"

Holmes took the question for what it was, rhetorical, and moved on. "Nevertheless, Doctor, I chose to involve myself in this affair well before you arrived here, and would have continued to do so even had we never met…" He paused thoughtfully. "Though had that been the case, my body would most likely be lying under a pile of rocks in the nearest burial ground at this very moment."

He smiled warmly—the expression suited him. "I am under no illusions on that point, my dear sir—you saved my life, for which I am profoundly grateful. But the decision to remain and fight is mine to make, and I make it gladly. The Earth is my home also, and, for the sake of my people, I will stand with you."

The Doctor found himself tearing up a bit and managed a watery smile. "Okay. Then. Okay." He gave a slightly hysterical giggle. "You _humans_. I just… heh." His smile turned into a grin. "I never get your limits." He happily clapped both Holmes's shoulders.

The detective chuckled. "That sounds extremely familiar."

The Time Lord grinned wider. "Told you—fan." He winked. "All right, then… we've got to find that laboratory."

"Indeed."

The Doctor fired up the TARDIS and said, "Ah, idea. You've got some idea of what you're looking for—think you can tackle that yourself? No heroics, you understand—just get the location." He held up his manuscript. "I've got some homework to do."

The human's grey eyes gleamed in a way that made the Time Lord feel as if he was looking into a mirror. "Simply get me back down to Lhasa, Doctor; I can track the smith from there. I am certain his assistance will be invaluable."

The Doctor glanced at him wryly, trying not to laugh. "You do _not_ miss a trick, do you?"

Holmes arched an eyebrow. "Very seldom, my dear Doctor."

The Time Lord snorted in amusement. "Let's at least be clear that the idea is very much against my better judgement."

"Your objections are noted, sir," said Holmes, eyes twinkling. "Let us be off."

The Doctor rolled his eyes, exasperated—still with the "sir"… "Humans! Can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em. Right, then—_allons-y_!" He threw back the lever. "C'mon, sweetheart!"

Holmes grabbed for the railing and hung on tightly. The ride this time was even shakier than before, with more short-outs. "Come, madam," Holmes encouraged, smiling: "the game is afoot."

The twittering this time was strained.

The Doctor kept his eyes on the monitor, more than a bit worried. "Ohhh, come _on_, honey!"

He heard rather than saw Holmes's anxious frown. "What is it?"

"Third time in less than a week in our timeline that she's strained herself like this! She's _old_, and there's only so much even she can take! C'mon, darlin', don't die on me now. Come on…"

They shuddered to a stop, and much of the equipment immediately powered down.

"What happened, Doctor?" came Holmes's voice. "Is she all right?"

The Doctor swallowed hard. "She's still okay. She… stopped herself before she got to a danger point." He grinned weakly. "My clever girl." He exhaled long and slow.

When he glanced at Holmes, he found the detective looking deeply concerned. "Doctor, are _you_ all right?"

The Doctor nodded shakily. "Yeah. Heh, would have been bloody awful to get stuck in the 1890s—so many years 'til you lot even build a proper spaceship…" He stroked the console appreciatively.

Holmes looked intrigued but apparently thought better of inquiring further. "How close are we to town?"

The Doctor glanced at the monitor. "About two klicks out…" He glanced at Holmes. "Ah, two kilometres. Or… blimey. Over a mile. Sorry, measurement conversions aren't my strong point."

Holmes nodded. "I had anticipated a longer trek, to be honest. It will serve."

The Doctor clapped his hands together sharply. "Okay! Anything you might need before you go… well, just focus on it in your head. The TARDIS will help you out from there." He pulled his glasses back out and put them on before picking the manuscript back up.

Holmes shook his head in aggravating amusement. "I shall certainly be needing some equipment. The wardrobe room, I assume?"

"Yeah, probably. Like I said, the TARDIS can help you out." The Doctor flopped onto the jump seat and settled in. "Give me a ring when you find anything out there."

Holmes looked bemused. "How am I to present you with jewellery while in the midst of tracking, Doctor?"

_Oops_. The Time Lord peered guiltily over the top of the scroll. "Blimey, I usually don't make _that_ mistake. Ah, 'give a ring'—a call on the telephone. Or mobile phone… prefer those…" He dug around in his pockets with his free hand. "Hold on—I'll find my extra and show you…" He stuck his arm far in and groaned. "Ohhh, not again!"

Holmes's entire being radiated curiosity. "A portable telephone… I suppose it is too much to hope that they shall be invented within my lifetime."

The Doctor grimaced sympathetically. "'Fraid not—won't be available to the public for another century…"

Holmes nodded his resignation.

The Doctor, meantime, sighed in exasperation as he continued to rummage… "Ah-HA! 'Ere we go!" He whipped out the mobile and proffered it to Holmes, who accepted it gingerly. "Easy to figure out, really—you shouldn't have any problems with it. I've got a spare, and this one has that one's number. All you have to do is go to the Contacts list and pick the number labelled 'Doctor,' hit the green button, and _voila_!

The Great Detective looked quite impressed, tucking the phone carefully away in his pocket. "I shall return momentarily, Doctor."

The Doctor gave him only a silent wave and turned his full attention to the scroll.

* * *

When Holmes returned, it was with a loaded rucksack and snowshoes, but the Doctor did not notice that right away. He was too busy frowning, though he did feel Holmes come up on him. "I… honestly don't know how we're going to pull this one off," the Doctor said seriously. "These things are… literally evil spirits. They're shadows, incorporeal, malevolent, possessive… Like the Vashta Nerada served up with a side of Time War Dalek, which might be what actually happened."

Holmes seemed deeply worried but thoughtful. "And these… shadow beings, Doctor… you believe they have taken possession of the scientist?"

The Doctor shrugged with his eyebrows. "At this point, just about anything's possible. So, yeah, could be that he got in too deep and they got a hold of him…"

"Which still leaves the question of what he was seeking in the first place before he encountered them," Holmes mused.

The Time Lord shook his head, angry at the sheer unfairness of it all. "Why can't you people ever leave things alone? But, nooo, you see some big black hole gaping at you or something shiny and you just _have_ to check it out…"

Holmes's expression was entirely sympathetic. "Curiosity is one of humanity's greatest flaws, Doctor… but one of its greatest strengths, as well. You must surely have discovered that about us by now."

The Doctor glared at him, upset—he just didn't get it, did he? "What, greatest blessing/greatest curse deal? Yeah, sorry—brilliant lot, mankind, but… Somewhere out there, there's a man who's been turned into an animal and the man who did that is probably himself possessed just 'cos he couldn't keep a lid on his curiosity. So, yeah, I'm just a bit not happy that there's more than likely going to be at least one death because of that."

Holmes glared right back. "Do you imagine, Doctor, that I do not share your sentiments? What was done to the smith was monstrous, and as to the fate of his poor wife… I dare not even speculate as of yet. But you desired a companion who could keep his head in an emergency, which is what I am _attempting_ to provide! Or would you prefer me to pace up and down, wringing my hands?"

"Not at all!" The Doctor felt his eyes blaze. "So sorry—you want me to pull my cold and really emotionless Time Lord act? I can do that." Then he stopped, horrified with himself for losing it like that. Never again… "I'm sorry." He massaged his eyelids, feeling old and tired and heartsick. He could not forget the shadow of his future self, the twisted parody created by the Time Lord Council long before the War…

Holmes looked chagrined. "I, too, Doctor. You were correct about this battle being ugly—but I still do not regret my part in it… or the company." He smiled tentatively.

The Doctor smiled back, sadly. "Right, then. Off you go—and remember the phone." 'Cos, at the end of the day, Holmes was still a Companion now and still the Doctor's responsibility… so he was feeling more than a little fatherly towards the Great Detective.

Holmes nodded as he strapped on his snowshoes.

"And good hunting!" the Doctor called after him as he reached the door.

"And you, my friend."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

So much to this chapter—you can't possibly even know! The K'vir are Ria's creation, and the idea to invoke the Time War was mine, really brought on by the Eight Guardians being Time Lords.

I think that the final conversation was my favorite bit—I think I love Ten the most when he's upset. Of course, we all know that Holmes has seen his share of horrors, but that part of the Doctor's world is still beyond his ken… And that will be important later!

Next up… well, golly, Ria and I need to tear our attention away from the finale! But it's so much harder to write the Doctor and Holmes split up! Anyway, stay tuned!

_**Please review!**_


	8. Chapter 7: Children of the Light

**==Chapter Seven==**

**Children of the Light**

_All those facts and figures I saw of the Doctor's life, you were never alone. All those bright and shining companions._

Holmes exited the TARDIS warily, relieved to find that the ship had wisely set herself down as far as possible from the edge of the mountain path, even facing the direction he needed to go. He gave the frame a grateful pat, closing the door behind him, before setting off towards the town. The snow was deeper than he had expected, and even with the snowshoes, he still sank up to his knees with every step. It would take him at least an hour to reach Lhasa at this rate. Admittedly, he'd faced worse conditions than this before now, but never with so little time at his disposal, or with so much at stake.

He clamped down hard on the anxiety churning in his gut, and concentrated on simply taking one step after another—the only thing he did have some control over at present. He wished he could have brought the skis he'd seen in the wardrobe room, but attempting to use them here might well have brought his part in this adventure to a swift and fatal conclusion… As if in response to his grim thoughts, a sudden low rumble reached his ears. Holmes looked up swiftly in alarm and saw, to his horror, a huge wave of snow sweeping straight down towards him.

Cursing, the detective rapidly shrugged off his rucksack and threw it towards the base of the shoulder-high rock face, diving straight after it. He curled himself over the top of the pack, taking a deep breath and burying his face in his arms. A second later, the avalanche hit the path with the force of a monsoon flood, something Holmes had only ever experienced once, which had been more than enough. The rock trembled and the snow poured down on his back in spite of the meagre shelter, weighing him down and blocking out the light in an instant.

Holmes silently blessed whatever divine Providence seemed to be watching over him. Had he remained where he was a moment longer, he would doubtless have been swept over the edge. As it was, he'd have a devil of a time digging himself back out. The snow seemed to have stopped shifting for now, but this small pocket of air he'd managed to create wouldn't last long and he had no idea of how far it was to the surface. Calling the Doctor on the mobile was not an option—it would take the man much too long to reach him, even assuming he had any idea of where his colleague was.

Blindly, Holmes groped for the folding shovel tucked into the front pocket of the rucksack, struggling to move against the snow pressing down on him. His chest was burning, and he was forced to let out the breath he'd been holding for another lungful of alarmingly stale air, which might very well be one of his last if he couldn't manage to move any faster. Bright colours were dancing in front of his eyes... he was starting to become drowsy...

Suddenly, the snow above him began to shift again. Holmes froze, afraid to move lest he get himself into deeper trouble in these highly unstable surroundings… but then the dead weight on top of him started lightening rapidly. A moment later, he felt the neck of his parka seized in a rough grasp and he was hauled unceremoniously up out of the snow's smothering embrace. The fresh, frozen air had never tasted so sweet! He lay still and drew deep breaths, letting himself recover and his watering eyes readjust to the light, before raising his head to look at his rescuer. His eyes widened in astonished recognition, although he supposed he really shouldn't be that surprised—who else but the smith could have gotten to him before he ran out of air?

Holmes sat up slowly, trying not to make any sudden movements. "Thank you," he murmured softly, smiling gratefully at the hybrid, who had without question saved his life. An ironic turn of events, considering how they'd first met.

The smith huffed in what seemed to be exasperated amusement—Holmes was relieved to note that his client was a lot more relaxed around him than he had been last night. Communication would also seem to be less of a problem than he had expected. Speaking of which... He pointed back down the deep hole to where he had left his rucksack. "We'll need that—could you...?"

The buried pack was dug up in a flurry of powder, quite a lot of it finding its way into the detective's face. Brushing the icy crystals out of his eyes, Holmes ignored the mischievous glint in the hybrid's eye and pulled out the notepad.

The smith's eyes widened when he saw the drawn symbol on the page, baring his fangs in a silent growl.

Holmes gave him a sympathetic look and gestured at the pad in what he hoped was an encouraging fashion, then pointed at his own eyes, unwilling to bring his hand anywhere near the hybrid's face at that moment. "Where?"

The hybrid's expression could only be described as apprehensive.

Holmes nodded in understanding. "I know, but we can't solve this unless we work together." Putting his rucksack back on, he held out his hand to the smith, who ignored it in favour of grabbing the detective around the waist. Taken completely by surprise, Holmes was unable to keep from struggling briefly, but the next moment he found himself being settled onto the hybrid's back. Reluctant to wrap his arms around the brute's neck, Holmes was forced to grasp long handfuls of silver fur to keep himself in place. All the same, he was deeply moved by the gesture of confidence, and in spite of the dangers ahead, he couldn't help but appreciate the wondrous situation he was in. If only Watson could see this…

He was jolted from his reverie by the smith gathering himself, then bounding forward on all fours up the steep mountain slope, leaving the buried path far behind in seconds. The ride was much smoother than Holmes had anticipated, although he wished he'd thought to include a pair of goggles in his equipment—the freezing wind rushed into his face as he squinted at the terrain ahead, making his eyes tear up again. He buried his face in the hybrid's fur to thaw his icy features, and concentrated on simply not falling off.

* * *

Much as the Doctor wished otherwise, Holmes's little pep talk hadn't really helped. The Doctor was angry, both at the situation they faced and at himself. _Cold and emotionless Time Lord_… Never again. Never.

Certainly, that was the very last thing Sherlock Holmes needed. The man actually seemed to be channeling a bit of his own sidekick, at least in interacting with the Doctor, and the Doctor certainly did not wish to damage that. He knew he would, given enough time… It was as he'd told Holmes before: he killed all his Companions. Sooner or later, directly or indirectly, but he did destroy their lives, their souls…

It wasn't fair. He was _the Doctor_. He only wanted to heal people.

So why was it always the other way around?

He feared the work that was coming up, that would probably have to be at night. "Those dark hours when the powers of evil are exalted," the legend of the Hound of the Baskervilles had said. Truer words had never been spoken. The night was the domain of so much that was utterly irredeemable, and the Doctor had not formed that opinion lightly.

And these… K'vir… he'd never heard of them before, but eight Time Lords sent to Earth to deal with them? Seal them away? _Eight_? Many Time Lords involved in the War had become one-man armies in their own right, so for the Council to have sent eight to deal with a threat… Mildly put, it did not bode well for his and Holmes's chances tonight.

The K'vir were incorporeal shadows like the Vashta Nerada but seemingly more intelligent. A K'vir could and needed to possess a human body to survive the daylight, for, unlike the Vashta Nerada, powerful light burned them into oblivion. Among these records was a tale of an entire city that had come under the subjugation of the K'vir, millennia ago. The Eight Guardians had to annihilate that city, but that was only one battle in long campaign against the K'vir.

In the end, they were not destroyed, only contained. The Eight had ripped a small hole in reality to send the K'vir into the Void and had sealed the rift after them. But if the K'vir were escaping back into this reality… who knew what might follow them? Or the effects on reality itself?

…he was not thinking of a beach in Norway, in another Norway… He wasn't.

But the weakness of the wall between this reality and the Void was disturbing. After… Canary Wharf… all the cracks sealed. A new crack now, and so soon afterwards, at least in his own timeline… Yeah, bit not good.

_Honey, I need you tonight,_ his mind murmured to his lady.

She knew, of course. She always knew.

_If anything happens to me, make sure that Holmes is okay. Get him to Montpellier._

If his girl had had a humanoid body, she would have drawn herself up and sniffed in disdain. Of _course_, she'd protect Holmes if she could.

The Doctor smiled fondly. "Atta girl," he whispered.

* * *

After a time, Holmes felt the smith slowing down, and lifted his head again, the force of the wind now greatly reduced. They were heading towards a narrow cleft in the mountainside, the craggy walls towering above them. The detective noted grimly that the ravine was filled with deep shadows, apparently due to the position of the afternoon sun, and yet… there seemed to be something more to the darkness than mere absence of light which, thanks to the Doctor, Holmes was having great difficulty ascribing solely to his own imagination.

He shook his head sternly, chiding himself. He had asked—nay, demanded—to be a part of this adventure, and he would be damned if he'd allow himself to be deterred by a few shadows, no matter what _might_ be lurking in them. If these… alien beings wanted a piece of Sherlock Holmes, not to mention his companions, they were going to have a considerable fight on their hands—or whatever equivalent they possessed!

The smith slowed to a near halt as they approached the cleft, bristling, body tense as a coiled spring. Holmes pulled himself slightly further forward on the hybrid's back, murmuring, "Stop here, let me down." His mount crouched down and let him slide off, realising as he did that he was still wearing his snowshoes. The detective unbuckled them, as there seemed to be very little snow in the ravine itself. He unslung his rucksack and drew out a black, cylindrical object as long as his forearm, which had caught his eye back in the wardrobe room. It was some kind of electric lamp, but which only cast light in the direction it was pointed, much like a dark lantern. Its practical shape and strong metal casing also meant it could double as a blackjack—he'd have given much to possess something like this on his travels!

His companion snuffed at it curiously, then Holmes pressed the switch on the side, careful to point it away from the hybrid's face. The smith started back as the light blazed forth, snarling in shock and alarm, but recovered a moment later when nothing else happened, glaring at the detective balefully.

Holmes gave him a sheepish smile, feeling a little guilty for startling his companion so. "My apologies, sir—I ought to have warned you. But if that was _your_ reaction, then whatever lurks in there is bound to think twice before tangling with the pair of us, I should imagine." His eyes gleamed, pulse quickening as he shone the lantern as far into the ravine as he could. The rough path seemed to curve, blocking his view of whatever lay at the end. Only one thing for it… "Shall we?"

* * *

At last, the Doctor could no longer stand the suspense—or the silence and the loneliness. The TARDIS had settled into a sort of healing hibernation state, and he certainly wasn't about to disturb her. By default, that left his newest Companion…

He dialed Holmes's number and waited. _**Please**__, pick up_.

* * *

The path had ended abruptly at a blank rock wall which, despite Holmes's minute examination with the aid of the lantern, had failed to yield any indications that it was anything more than a simple dead end. However all of his instincts, corroborated by his hulking companion's recent tracks and equally intense concentration upon the rock face, told him that this was certainly the entrance to the laboratory. The key question was: how the devil were they meant to open it? Perhaps with the Doctor's sonic screwdriver...

A high-pitched ringing suddenly interrupted Holmes' musings. The detective spun in alarm, shining his lantern swiftly around the ravine as the smith crouched low, hackles raised, fangs bared. A moment later, Holmes realised with relief that the noise was coming from his coat pocket. Murmuring reassuringly to the still-bristling hybrid, he retrieved the mobile and opened it, logic prompting him to use it as he would an ordinary telephone receiver. "Yes, Doctor?"

There was a clear sigh of relief from the Time Lord. _"You're still alive, good. Hope I'm not interrupting anything_—_actually, I hope I am. Find anything yet?"_

Holmes turned his attention back to the rock face, brow furrowed, murmuring absently, "That, Doctor, is what I am currently trying to determine. The ravine we are in would appear to lead to nowhere, but the smith is certain he exited the laboratory through here, and his tracks bear that out. I have not yet been able to find any sign of a door from this side, however."

He could hear the shrug in the Doctor's voice. _"Well, tha' would be consistent with the nature of evil lairs."_ Faint sounds in the background suggested that the Doctor was at the console. _"Okay, thanks to your phone, I see your position…"_ and a murmuring twitter told a relieved Holmes that the TARDIS was emerging from hibernation. _"The TARDIS says she'll be flight-worthy in another half hour, so for goodness' sakes, be careful." _The Doctor's voice grew serious. _"I mean it, Holmes: don't do anything stupid."_

Holmes smiled grimly. "I shall do my best." A thought struck him. "Oh, and I would advise you to park the TARDIS outside, Doctor—this ravine is rather narrow."

There was a considerable pause, quite long enough to make the detective's own hackles rise. _"Holmes... I'll probably be parking the TARDIS _inside_-inside."_

Holmes' eyes narrowed, a chill crawling down his spine which had nothing to do with the cold. "Doctor, did you not just tell _me_ not to do anything foolish? If this entrance remains sealed and you are caught, neither of us will be able to aid you!"

The Doctor's voice became still more serious. _"You've got half an hour to figure out a way in, Holmes."_ He paused again for a brief moment, resuming thoughtfully, _"Besides which, even if something happens to me, the TARDIS just _might_ be able to help out."_

The detective pricked up his ears. "In what way?"

The Time Lord's next words were delivered in what Holmes was beginning to think of as his lecturing professor's voice. "_The K'vir might be, in part, where the legends of vampires come from, Holmes_—_sunlight is fatal for them."_ His tone became slightly hushed, almost reverent. _"And the heart of the TARDIS is as bright as the sun itself."_

"Good Lord..." Holmes breathed, eyes wide in awe. The detective could not even begin to grasp the scale of that kind of raw energy, let alone its implications—which was probably for the best, all things considered. And the Doctor considered such a staggeringly volatile option to be a _contingency_? Although a better question might be how on earth Holmes was going to be of any use in that instance. "Any specific instructions?" he asked, as coolly as he could manage.

Holmes could practically hear the Doctor's eyes close as he reflected. _"I've never seen her open up on her own…"_ and the Time Lord's voice suddenly took on a note of deadly solemnity. _"But, Sherlock Holmes, whatever happens, be careful! If you look into that light yourself, you just might end up absorbing the entire Time Vortex_—_and _it will burn you_."_

Holmes couldn't quite suppress a shiver at his colleague's tone, which spoke all too clearly of firsthand experience in such matters... "Very well," he murmured, hoping fervently that the Doctor had a better reason for not directly answering his question than mere lack of knowledge—though the detective's experiences with the alien to date had done little to inspire him with confidence in that regard. "And you be certain to take the greatest care as well, Doctor."

The Doctor's brightening voice gave Holmes a clear mental image of the falsely cheerful expression the Time Lord had to be wearing. _"Oooh, you don't have to worry about that! Mr. Lucky, that's me. Just worry about yourself, the smith, and that door, and I'll see you in a bit."_

The detective set his jaw determinedly. "Indeed you shall." He closed the mobile, put it back in his pocket and focused his scrutiny on the rock wall once more, praying silently all the while for some kind of miracle. He didn't care what form it took—_anything_ to break this accursed standstill! If he and the smith couldn't manage to find a way in soon… The list of things Holmes didn't care to contemplate was rapidly getting longer, with the notion of a reckless, anguished Time Lord facing off alone against a horde of shadow demons at the very top of it, regardless of who emerged as the victor...

* * *

The Doctor waited thirty minutes after he set down the phone, down to the last second. After that, he started up his girl, slowly and gently. 'Well, Holmes, I sure hope you're okay and you'll keep on being okay," he muttered.

He patted the console and looked up at the ceiling. "Ready, honey?"

The TARDIS beeped worriedly but affirmatively.

He smiled sadly. "All right, then. _Allons-y_."

* * *

**Author's note from Ria:**

Sorry, everyone, we know it's been months since the last update! *hangs head in shame* In our defence, we have been working on 'Children of Time', but on the _final_ episodes. That's what you get for writing about time travel, I guess: the temptation to skip ahead is terrible. It'll be worth the wait, though, we guarantee you! Next stop, the lab… Oi, don't shove—there's enough room behind the couch for everyone!

**Author's note from Sky:**  
Ditto on... well, everything. :) I would like to add, though, that I feel largely responsible for so much time having been spent on the finale. *cringes* Yes, I know, I'm sorry! But, as Ria says, it will _totally _be worth the wait—so much so that it's been _killing _me _not _to give away spoilers! Now here's hoping our next update won't take so long!


	9. Chapter 8: Creatures of the Night

**==Chapter Eight== **

**Creatures of the Night**

_That's what you've opened, right above the Earth. Hell is descending._

Holmes thumped his fist on the rock in sheer frustration, resisting the urge to follow suit with his head – the time limit the Doctor had given him was almost expired, and still nothing! He'd used all the tricks he knew, tried every idea that had occurred to him three times over, logical and ridiculous, but the door remained stubbornly closed. The smith, to be fair, had done his best to assist, even making a heroic effort to answer all Holmes' questions about the last time he had used this route; unfortunately, there was only so much the hybrid could convey without speech, and no doubt the poor brute's ability to remember crucial details had been severely affected at the time...

The detective glanced in something horribly close to despair at the rapidly darkening sky, the shadows which filled the ravine deepening by the second. Despite his keen night vision, developed still further through sheer necessity over the last two years, he would have been forced to admit defeat much sooner without the help of the lantern – not that it had done much good, in any case! If it came to that, exactly how useful had Holmes been himself thus far? In spite of all the Doctor's encouragement and his obvious need for human companionship, the human in question was beginning to wonder if their paths crossing had been more of a cruel jest than anything else.

He leaned wearily against the rock wall, the heavy lantern hanging loosely in his hand, head tilted back to bleakly watch the last rays of the sinking sun travel up the ravine wall and disappear from view... and a moment later, Holmes exclaimed in alarm as he felt himself toppling backwards, his support suddenly and inexplicably vanished! He twisted like a cat as he fell and managed to land on his side, free hand slightly cushioning the impact to his ribs and holding his lantern out with the other to shine the light down... the narrow tunnel which now lay open, without any obvious indication that a door had ever been there to begin with.

Holmes hastily pulled himself together as the smith hurried forward and lifted him effortlessly to his feet, snuffing at the detective anxiously. "All right, old fellow," he murmured, greatly touched, laying a reassuring hand on his companion's frost-furred shoulder. The smith's concern put Holmes wistfully in mind of yet another companion, half a world away at home with his wife in London... whom he truly would never see again if the three of them failed in their efforts tonight. His eyes narrowed with grim resolution as he and the increasingly tense hybrid advanced down the rocky passage as swiftly as caution would allow. For Watson's sake, if no one else's, Holmes would see this night's work through or perish in the attempt – and he didn't need anyone to tell him just how probable that outcome was.

* * *

Wakefulness came slowly to him, fading in and out in time with a throbbing in his head that was getting stronger. He groaned at the growing pain. "Wha…" He blinked his eyes slowly open, finding his surroundings oddly familiar… He tried to shift and realized that he couldn't move.

The Doctor was strapped down.

He frowned incredulously. "What?!" Then he remembered: landing the TARDIS inside an advanced laboratory, finding it empty save for a restrained and unconscious woman whom he was pretty sure was the smith's wife, and then pain exploding at the back of his head before passing out. He glared down at his bonds and demanded, "What the hell is going on?!"

The man he'd seen in the smith's memories stood at a nearby bench, his back to the Doctor, muttering absently to himself as he worked on… whatever it was he was working on. The Doctor couldn't tell.

His frown deepened—he _hated_ it when the bad guys just ignored him. Villainy was never an excuse for rudeness. "Hey! 'Lo, excuse me? Would you mind telling me why I'm strapped down—" he glanced down at himself—"to an ominous-looking operating table?"

The man paused and turned his head to smile at the Doctor. There was far too much hunger in that smile for comfort, the eyes deep with shadows.

The Doctor took a deep breath, eyes widening—even after a few centuries of defeating the horrors of the universe, some things were still just plain disturbing. "Oookay… is that the closest I'm going to get to finding out why? Who _are_ you, and what do you want with me?"

Dark fire danced in those eyes, flooding the Doctor with memories of a living hell, a war that very nearly destroyed reality… "But surely you already know who we are… Time Lord…" The voice echoed with the power of many, and a terrible realisation struck the Doctor. The man was not simply _possessed_—he was a holding vessel for a _legion_.

"Oh, believe me," he returned grimly, "I know exactly what _you_ are. All right then, who was _he_?"

The disturbing smile faded slightly. "Human names are such ephemeral things…" The smile widened again, the Doctor's stomach churning at the sight. "And he cast his away so very willingly, 'Doctor'… such drive, such hunger, such need to forget… a need we could use…"

The Time Lord felt his eyes burn with the fury rising in his heart. "I wonder if the Daleks understood what they were _doing_ when they made you." Not even the Daleks were this thoroughly evil… "So you possessed a lonely man—" the man's face took on an expression of scorn at the word 'possessed'—"you need him to stand the daylight. What do you need me for, then?"

"You believe we would choose such a pathetic vessel, Time Lord? As we learnt to our cost so long ago, humanity is far too fragile for our purposes—it is only this one's willing submission that allows us a tenuous foothold in his consciousness…"

The Doctor's eyes widened a bit further as he desperately hoped he was wrong. "…I've got a really bad feeling you just answered my question."

The man nodded simply. "We dare not leave our… home… without a far stronger host."

"Right… ah…" _Think, think, think!_ "Might wanna think about that one first, yep, 'cos, y'know, I've only got a couple of regenerations left, and, ah, no other Time Lords around, so you really might want to reconsider this…"

The man smirked. "Oh, but we need only one of your race, Doctor." He—it—they—tilted their head, voice dark with hunger. "Such a deliciously spacious psyche, more than enough room for all…"

The Doctor took a shaky breath, not counting his chances good if Holmes didn't get here soon, and even then… "You're not going to get a foothold," he said more firmly than he felt. Being faced with nearly inevitable possession for all eternity was not something he'd experienced before, and it left him feeling cold and sick and scared. The one mercy in all this was that his Rose would never see this, even if just the thought of her made his hearts ache all the more.

The smirk became a leer. "Shall we not?" They nodded at the still sedated woman. "Mankind's frailty can be a blessing as well as a curse, Time Lord." They advanced, and the Doctor realised they were preparing to insert an IV into his arm.

He grimaced. "Ohhh, you've _got_ to be kidding me! Seriously? I would really like to have a word with your genetics teacher…"

They shrugged. "All we require is an opening, Doctor. We are all too well aware of the strength of your kind, particularly the psychic immune system." The cold eyes narrowed. "But once that defense is weakened…" The leer turned smug. "Quite the brilliant brain, this one, for its time—though it did take some little while to break down its archaic mindset and teach it what we needed it to learn."

"Eee, yeaaah, okay, didn't _anybody_ ever tell you that bad things happen when you start mixing human with Gallifreyan? Usually doesn't work out so well." Well, _usually_ for an extremely rare occurrence, but _they_ didn't need to know that… He hissed in pain as the IV line entered his arm. "C'mon, you lot are pretty brilliant, yourselves—throw me a bone, here!"

They hissed, teeth bared, resembling nothing so much as a cornered serpent. "You dare to speak to _us_ of unfortunate outcomes, Time Lord?! Your people locked us away for millennia, denied us our liberty!" They calmed slightly. "It seems only fitting, does it not, that you, the last of your kind, should be the one to set us free again…"

Oh, he was so _sick_ of this. He favoured them with a steely glare, gritting out, "You should never have existed in the first place. I am _not_ going to set you free—I'm going to stop you."

They laughed mockingly as they finished hooking him up to the machine. "You are in no position to do any such thing, Doctor! A simple transfusion, and the walls of your mind will melt like ice… and then…" They turned to look across the cavern at the wall where the symbol from the parchment was carved into the rock. "One touch is all it takes, Time Lord…" The cold eyes burned. "We have waited so very long…"

The Doctor managed to speak quietly and calmly, despite his racing hearts. "You're going to have to wait a lot longer."

They sniffed in disdain, turned to activate the machine… and stopped suddenly, stiffening. The head snapped up, expression furious. "Who dares…?" they hissed.

His eyes lit up with one thought: _Sherlock_. "Y'see?"

Their eyes widened. "The beast! And the meddler! They shall not interfere, not now!" Eyes blazing, they hurried to a nearby cupboard, removing from it an all-too-familiar weapon, though attached to a makeshift grip and trigger for a hand's use.

The Doctor's eyes widened in horror as they spun around with the modified Dalek laser held ready. "No!" he screamed. "Sherlock!"

* * *

The hybrid's soft rumbling grew steadily in volume as he and Holmes neared the end of the tunnel, despite the detective's repeated attempts to quiet him. Even so, Holmes could plainly hear two voices up ahead, one familiar, the other entirely unknown and which, even from this distance, had a hideously disturbing quality to it. If asked for a description, Holmes might have said it sounded as if the voices of an entire host were issuing from a single human throat... and given what the Doctor had told him of the K'vir, he was greatly inclined to rely on his first impression!

The smith bared his fangs, hackles raised, barely keeping himself from snarling outright, trembling violently with what Holmes fervently hoped was rage rather than fear at the sound of the fiends who had caused him such terrible suffering. Now if the poor brute could only manage to control that anger enough to be of more help than hindrance...

His musing was cut short by the hybrid suddenly stiffening, head raised to snuff the air deeply, nostrils flaring, eyes wide and filled with a fierce hope that grew by the second. The detective's own eyes widened as he realised what his companion had to have scented, or rather who – the smith's wife must still be alive, and close by at that – except that this really was the worst possible moment for such a distraction! Holmes reached out and grabbed the hybrid's arm to try and hold him back, which the creature completely disregarded as he pressed forward around the last corner, whining in excitement... The next instant, Holmes heard the sinister voice rising, almost shrieking in fury, followed by the Doctor screaming the detective's name in frantic warning.

Holmes had time for one horrified look at the scene in front of him before being forced to exert all his strength in getting the smith and himself back around the corner, as a beam of blue light shot across the cavern towards them with a shrill whine, missing the hybrid's shoulder by inches. His mind raced faster than it ever had before, processing every detail he'd managed to glean in that brief moment of study.

He could hear the Doctor still shouting hoarsely, "No! Sherlock, just get out! _Please!_" The Time Lord was clearly helpless to assist his companions in this instance, restrained as he was; and although the TARDIS was only parked halfway across the cavern to the right of the tunnel, she might as well have been on the moon with the two of them pinned down where they were... and what in blazes was that infernal device the scientist was discharging at them? Strangely, it seemed to be having no effect on the rock wall of the tunnel, but it must do something horrible to organic matter, or the Doctor wouldn't sound so terrified. They would be utter fools to face down such a weapon armed with nothing but claws, fangs and a blackjack...

Holmes stiffened as inspiration dawned, and none too soon – the scientist was now only a dozen feet from their cover, shadow-filled eyes blazing as fiercely as the weapon in his hands as he continued to advance. "Stay down!" Holmes hissed at the smith, ignoring the suspicious growl that earned him, then snatched up the still-burning lamp he had dropped and pointed it straight at the scientist's face. Holmes had expected to perhaps blind their attacker temporarily, giving him a few precious seconds in which to act with relative freedom, but he was entirely unprepared for the unearthly scream of agony that tore from the other man's throat as the light flashed into his face, recoiling and rubbing madly at his eyes with his free hand. To Holmes' profound dismay, however, the man had managed to keep hold of his strange firearm – although he was now shooting wildly, blindly in their general direction, tears streaming, face contorted with pain and rage.

Breathing a silent prayer to whatever higher power might be listening, Holmes drew back his arm, ready to hurl the heavy lamp in a last-ditch attempt to knock the weapon from the frenzied scientist's hand... only to find himself suddenly being snatched up off his feet yet again, this time held in place against the smith's right side by the hybrid's own massive arm, claws extended and gripping the back of Holmes' parka. Before his bewildered passenger had time to make any kind of protest, the behemoth gathered himself and silently bounded forward out of hiding on his three remaining limbs, not charging at their attacker, but past him towards the TARDIS! Holmes realised with a shock that the smith must have seen him looking desperately in the direction of the strange blue box, and somehow understood that that was where his companion needed to be.

With the TARDIS now only a few leaps away, Holmes dared to hope they might both reach it in one piece... when his companion stiffened with a choked snarl, his whole body bathed in the ghastly blue light... then staggered and collapsed, still clutching Holmes to his side. Through a fog of horror, Holmes could dimly hear the Doctor's anguished scream and the exultant, demonic laugh of the scientist, whose eyesight had obviously recovered enough to allow him to bring down such a huge target, even while in motion. That laugh might at any other time have turned Holmes' blood to ice, but right now it only served to stoke the flames of pure fury which seared his insides. He let that anger surge through him, giving him the strength he needed to break free of the fallen smith's hold, the Doctor's urgent shout of "Sherlock, hurry!" ringing in his ears. Desperately, he scrambled the last few feet to the TARDIS, heedless now of the resumed hail of blue fire scorching the air around him.

Diving through the door, he slammed it shut and locked it, praying fervently that that was enough to hold off their enemies – at least until he'd managed to work out just what the bloody hell he was meant to do next... 'Open the heart of the TARDIS,' the Doctor had instructed, clearly a feat far easier said than done! Holmes hastily approached the console, and stood staring in bewilderment at the controls, none of them yielding any clue as to which of them might help him. He didn't dare touch anything without knowing exactly what he was doing, and the one person who did know was out in the laboratory, strapped to an operating table... No, wait – that wasn't true, was it?

At a loss for any other options, Holmes looked pleadingly up at the central column, addressing the TARDIS. "Madam, I know you don't usually interfere directly in a problem, but if there was ever a time to make an exception...!" He spread his hands helplessly. "I cannot do this alone, dear lady – he needs us both." A moment later, the detective experienced the oddest sensation inside his head: almost as if a bird had lightly brushed its wing across his mind. Holmes couldn't help recoiling physically from the alien touch, and for one panicked moment he thought the K'vir had managed to find a way past the TARDIS' defenses... but then he heard a gentle, soothing hum coming from the console, followed by an encouraging flurry of beeps, and he began to understand, recalling what the Doctor had told him about the vessel's telepathic link.

Still apprehensive, he placed his hands flat on the edge of the console and closed his eyes. The bird's wing brushed him again and came back to rest, only this time he managed to keep from resisting the contact, doing his best to relax. On instinct, he envisioned her as a client approaching the front door to 221B, unlocking and opening it to allow her into his thoughts. "Show me," he murmured.

"_Oh, Holmes... what have you done to yourself this time?" The exasperated voice cuts through Holmes' delirium, filled with affection and concern, the hand on his fevered brow blissfully cool and reassuring..._

_...Watson leaving his side and dashing out in front of a runaway cart, scooping the stray child from its path with barely a second to spare, Holmes' heart missing a beat in unexpected fright – so strange that the thought of his fellow lodger being injured should cause him such profound inner turmoil..._

_...brooding over his latest case at the breakfast table, disjointed facts chasing themselves in circles, until the doctor's firm voice breaks in on his frustrated reverie with the insistence that he needs more than just coffee to fuel himself for a day's work... _

_...shaking Watson awake in the early hours of a winter morning, dodging the pillow hurled at his head along with a colourful oath – and yet how swiftly the doctor joins him in the waiting cab, the adventurous glint in his eye rivalling Holmes' own, never dreaming of being left behind..._

_...standing at bay in a dingy alley, battling half a dozen thugs (he should have realised his informant had been paid off!), moving as one to block each frenzied attack, so well attuned to each others' fighting style there is no need even to speak..._

_...sitting in his armchair before the fire, Stradivarius tucked under his chin, caressing the strings with the bow, the exquisite strains of Mendelssohn soothing an exhausted Watson back to sleep on the settee after yet another nightmare..._

_...his first night in Florence after escaping from Switzerland, turning unthinkingly to ask Watson if he'd mind his smoking in the hotel room, the subsequent hollowness in his gut having nothing to do with his not having eaten all day..._

Holmes' brow furrowed deeply as he attempted to sort through the plethora of memories the TARDIS had shown him. The only obvious common factor here was Watson – but why? What did his friend have to do with _this_ battle...

_...a slender pair of arms encircling him, rocking him gently as he trembles, the dark tendrils of nightmare slowly releasing him from their grasp... _

_...the soothing notes of a well-loved tune from a soft, sweet voice, so kind and comforting... "Maman is here, petit... all is well..."_

_...golden curls clutched in his small hands, the warm, delicate scent of jasmine tickling his nose..._

"...Mother..." Holmes tried to ignore the growing ache in his chest, still struggling to understand – for certainly there was a deeper purpose to what he was experiencing than the simple dredging up of a dimly-remembered past. He would have to go further still... He set his teeth and bowed his head, bracing himself. "Show me..."

_...watching wide-eyed, cut lip stinging, as his older brother's fist lands on the jaw of the next bully, the blow sure and swift as a blacksmith's hammer, Mycroft's eyes gleaming with carefully controlled fury... _

_...two opposing armies, their generals locked in a grim battle of wits in the draughty library, he should never have let his brother teach him chess... yet they will spend little enough time together in the foreseeable future – Mycroft's school trunk is already packed..._

_...opening the brown paper parcel on Christmas morning in the dormitory, the only present he couldn't deduce from the wrapping, it must be from Mycroft, who else would give him a magnifying glass..._

_...pacing the portrait gallery restlessly, his brother's calm, practical tone as he leans against the wall doing little to diminish his frustration: "...and if you choose to waste your life in pursuit of Father's approval, little brother, then **I** shall wash my hands of you... The land is in your blood, Sherlock, true, but not in your head, any more than mine..."_

"...show me…"

_...lying exhausted on a deep cushion of moss, hands and knees stinging from the climb to the ledge above the falls, biting his lip to keep from calling out as Watson's desperate shouts gradually fade, terror for his missing friend swiftly overtaken by despair..._

_...the Doctor's thin frame shuddering in Holmes' arms as they stand in the snow, wracked with sorrow for the woman he loved and lost..._

_...a slim, female hand, palm rough and calloused, ring finger adorned by a plain band of gold..._

_...a tall, willowy brunette running through a forest glade, graceful as a deer, he cannot see her face..._

_..."You had better return to England, Watson... You will find me a dangerous companion now." "When haven't I, old friend?" Watson chuckles lightly, his chin set at a very familiar angle..._

_... "A hundred years from now... there are a lot that are going to appreciate you... for the way you're so fantastically human!" The Doctor grins a touch sheepishly at his own enthusiasm, but with his gaze direct and earnest... _

And all at once Holmes understood, finally, what the TARDIS wanted of him. Eyes still closed, he drew a deep breath and reached back down inside of himself, filling his mind and heart with tender thoughts of the people in his life who were dearest to him, vowing silently that if... _when_ he returned home, he would make more of an effort to convey just how much... how much he loved them... Watson, Mycroft, Mrs Hudson, the Irregulars... and most recently, a certain eccentric, impulsive Time Lord, undeniably alien and yet so amazingly human himself – a trait which might very well mean the Doctor's downfall in short order, if Holmes could not find a way to help him...!

His last desperate thought was interrupted by a loud click, much like a door being unlocked... Holmes' eyes flew open and he stared in growing wonder and hope, as a section of the TARDIS console lifted like a trapdoor and a dazzling, pulsing radiance began to drift out into the control room. Remembering the Doctor's stern warning, the awestruck detective moved well away from the console, shielding his eyes with his arms as the TARDIS door unlatched itself and swung open, the living light from her heart streaming out into the gloomy cavern...

* * *

The Doctor watched, still helpless, as the K'vir fired off several shots at the TARDIS before realising the futility of the action. They rushed at the door and tried to pry it open, again without success, and turned on the Doctor, hissing. "And one by one, your companions fail you, Doctor—you still believe you shall prevail? Your puny human cannot command a Time Lord's vessel; and once we are released…"

The Doctor glared back, angrier than ever at one of his Companions being labeled as a _puny human_."Oh, but there's _so_ much more to humans than you know, and more to _my_ humans than you'll ever be able to understand. My Companions don't fail me. Ever."

The cold eyes gleamed maliciously, and the Doctor could not help but shudder at the thought that they must be planning out Holmes's future for him. _Please, Sherlock—hurry_. The K'vir turned back towards their machine, right as the TARDIS opened…

The Time Lord watched in a mixture of triumph and reverence as his lady began to spread her light. Then he remembered himself and closed his eyes—he was _not_ going to regenerate on poor Holmes as he had… _Never mind_.

He heard the K'vir snarl, heard the fear and horror in their voice. Felt the Heart of his girl mending the broken seal, closing the breach permanently. Heard the man—human once more—scream in pain and loss, severed from the creatures that had bound him in willing captivity.

Feeling the danger pass, the Doctor opened his eyes and saw Sherlock Holmes headed towards him. The Doctor beamed at his Companion, then searched for the scientist. He had collapsed to the ground, holding his head, and looked to be out cold. The Doctor could scarcely even imagine…

He turned back to Holmes and smiled solemnly. "Well done, Sherlock Holmes." He nodded at the scientist. "Pretty sure he's got the sonic, if you wouldn't mind…?"

Holmes nodded—rather anxiously, the Doctor thought—and approached the prone man cautiously, relaxing once he realised the scientist really was unconscious. The detective swiftly searched the man's pockets and retrieved the sonic and the laser, bringing both to the Doctor… although he held the laser quite gingerly, keeping his hands well away from the jury-rigged controls.

The Doctor eyed the laser grimly and eagerly accepted his own tool, quickly springing himself free and leaping down from the table, glad to be able to stretch. "Aaawllll right, much better, thank you, Holmes. Mind if I see that thing?" He held out his hand for the laser.

Holmes immediately handed the weapon over, relief in his expression. His grey gaze swept the chamber and latched onto the unconscious woman, and his eyes went wide. "Oh, dear God, the smith!" He rushed back towards the crumpled hybrid as the Doctor turned the laser over in his hands in distaste, examining it. Oh, the irony of the Daleks' own creation turning on them. Why did even psychopaths never learn?

He heard Holmes's breath catch, his frantic call: "Doctor, he's still alive!" just as the Time Lord realised that the laser was not at full, exterminating power. Holmes tried to roll the smith over and couldn't manage it, and the Doctor ran over to join him. He gazed down at the creature, pity, sorrow, and gratitude washing over him. "You brave, brave man," he murmured. He helped Holmes roll him over, muttering, "If only… we could get him into the medbay…" He ran the sonic over the smith to get an idea of the extent of his injury.

The Doctor was intent enough on the sonic that he didn't notice what Holmes did. "Doctor, that sound," the human breathed: "it's reaching him—keep it going!" The Doctor nodded and left the sonic humming while he checked the readings. Holmes jumped to his feet, and the Time Lord looked up to see him returning with the unconscious woman in his arms.

The Doctor beamed. "Holmes, you're brilliant. I love you!"

Holmes set her down gently beside her husband. The smith woke slowly, faintly whining in pain—until he caught the scent of his wife. The large, dark eyes snapped open and widened in relief as he turned his head to see her beside him. He rolled stiffly onto all fours, anxiously snuffing at her, nuzzling her gently, crooning deep in his throat. Then he lifted his head and looked pleadingly at the Doctor.

The Doctor watched him, chest aching, and managed a sad smile. "She'll be all right," he murmured. "But… I'm sorry, I'm afraid I can't… change you back." He realised that he was nearly crying. "I'm so sorry."

Holmes looked heartsick—the thought flashed through the Doctor's mind that calling Sherlock Holmes a "brain without a heart" was simply cruel. "Doctor, are you certain? For the love of Heaven, you have an entire genetic laboratory at your disposal; even the scientist himself, if we can manage to—" He stopped abruptly, doubtlessly realising the problems with that idea.

"I'm not a geneticist, Sherlock," the Doctor said quietly, "and even if I was, it's extremely difficult to reverse a genetic mutation like this—_especially_ one that's more accidental than intentional."

Holmes looked over at the scientist himself, frowning. "How _do_ you intend to deal with him?"

The Doctor glanced grimly in that direction. "He's suffered enough—they took a lonely, hurting man, no matter how willing…" Originally, he'd wanted nothing more than to punish that man, but now… It was like looking at Tolkien's Gollum and feeling revulsion and pity at the same time. He shook his head. "I think some time in the monastery will do him good."

Holmes nodded solemnly and returned his gaze to the smith's wife, who was starting to stir—Juan, if the Doctor understood aright from his brief time in the smith's head. "And I believe, Doctor, that we have a slightly more pressing matter to attend to." Holmes looked back up at the smith, smiling regretfully. "I hate to say it, old fellow, but your wife seeing you like this before we've explained things…"

The smith huffed sadly, eyes full of pain.

Holmes smiled reassuringly. "If the lady's heart is half as great as your own, my friend, you need not fear. Have a little faith." The Doctor smiled more fully at Holmes—he was really doing very well—and nodded encouragingly at the smith.

The smith looked doubtful but gave his wife one last, loving nudge with his snout before turning and heading for the tunnel.

Juan drifted awake, then started as she realised that strange men were watching her. She bolted upright, eyes wide. "Who are you? What do you want with me?"

The Doctor raised an eyebrow and looked back up at Holmes. "I think I'll let you handle this one…" The Great Detective could be quite tactful when he wanted to be, and the Doctor knew he did _very_ well in comforting his distraught female clients.

Holmes turned his reassuring smile upon Juan and executed a profound bow, fully the gentleman. "A thousand apologies if we alarmed you, madam. I assure you, we mean you no harm. My name is Emil Sigerson, and this is the Doctor. We received word at the Sera monastery that you and your husband were missing from Lhasa—we came to find you. Are you well?"

Juan nodded slowly, eyeing him and the Doctor warily yet. "Where is Cheng Wei? Where is my husband?"

"He is close by, madam, and anxious to be reunited with you," Holmes said gently. "But before that may be, there are things you must learn about what has happened… and I fear that most of them will not be easy for you to hear."

Juan frowned in concern. "I would rather, sir, to hear all, please. My husband has been gone for so long now."

Holmes inclined his head respectfully, then nodded up to the carved symbol on the wall. "As you are no doubt aware, madam, a great battle was once fought in these lands by the Eight Guardians against the forces of darkness." He shuddered slightly—the Doctor couldn't blame him. "But after being imprisoned for thousands of years, those demons came near to escaping once more…"

Holmes smiled solemnly. "And they would surely have succeeded in doing so, had it not been for your husband. It was his loyalty and courage that made it possible for us to bind the demons back into the dark, where they will now remain, forever." He bowed his head. "But a great price was demanded for that victory, my lady... and... I am truly sorry, but it was Cheng Wei who paid it... He has been... transformed, reborn... as a man of the snow."

Juan's eyes widened in horror, sending a pang through the Doctor's hearts. "You cannot mean... you cannot mean that... my love… He has been made a yeti?" she whispered.

Holmes met her gaze again, expression full of grave sympathy. Definitely not a brain without a heart. Never a brain without a heart. "Indeed, madam. But you should also know that, despite his outward form and nature, his heart and soul have remained those of a man. He loves you still, there can be no doubt of that."

Juan looked down, closed her eyes, and took a shuddering breath. "I... I would not... would not doubt that. Could never doubt that." She took another deep breath, opened her eyes, looked back up, and expelled the breath. The brave woman… "May I not see him, then?"

Holmes nodded at the Doctor, then smiled warmly at Juan. The Doctor nodded back and strode off to retrieve the smi—Cheng Wei. "He would have been at your side even now, madam," Holmes continued, "but we feared what your first reaction might be before you had a chance to learn the truth."

Cheng Wei was sitting a few dozen yards from the entrance to the lab, forlornly hunched over. He looked up at the Doctor's approach, mingled hope and apprehension in his eyes.

The Doctor smiled gently, chest still hurting. "Come on, Cheng Wei. Juan is waiting for you."

The hybrid's eyes lit first at the sound of his own name, then further at hers. He rose and followed the Doctor back into the chamber. Holmes and Juan were standing, and she turned, probably at the sound of heavier footfalls. "My love?"

Cheng Wei emerged slowly from the shadows, hesitant, undeniably more nervous than ever. Juan's eyes were bright with unshed tears as she drew near. "Dearest?" Cheng Wei's eyes glowed at the sound of her voice, and he approached her still slowly, cautiously, halting just before her, head and shoulders lowered.

She reached out tentatively, touched his arm gently, whispered, "My poor love."

He crooned mournfully, his large eyes full of pain. He lifted his head, huffing softly, and nosed gently at her hand, his concern obvious.

She was silently crying, and smiled mistily at his actions. "I am well, darling, I promise you."

The Doctor was shedding a few tears of his own by now, unable to stop himself from remembering all those times that he and Rose had returned to each other after being separated. They'd always been relieved, grateful, happy… and everything that tore them away from each other made them stronger in the end. They always came back to each other…

Until they couldn't…

Chen Wei's expression was definitely a mixture of relief and sorrow. He reached out carefully to touch her small cheek with the back of one huge paw, claws retracted.

The Doctor glanced over at Holmes, unable to watch much more, and saw an unnatural brightness in the detective's eyes. Holmes glanced away from the couple and landed his attention on the abandoned machine and what looked to be the original serum used on Cheng Wei. The grey eyes widened, and the Doctor could just see the mind behind them racing. "Doctor," he murmured, "this might sound completely insane... but even if you cannot change Cheng Wei back to his human form..."

The Doctor's eyes widened, themselves, as he caught on—they couldn't change Cheng Wei back, but Juan, on the other hand… "Holmes… I… I'm not sure… How could we even try to offer… and…" He hung his head, conflicted, trying to process it all.

He felt Holmes's long, thin hand on his shoulder, warm and gentle. "It is a risk, Doctor, I am aware of that—but surely they both deserve to decide for themselves, at least?" Holmes looked him in the eye, smiling warmly. "And if there is anyone who can find a way to make this work, my dear sir, it is you." He nodded towards husband and wife. "If you would prefer me to put the question to them..."

The Doctor exhaled slowly, nodded once, warmed a little by Holmes's encouragement, his gaze drifting back towards the odd-looking couple. "No... No, I think I'd better give them their options myself." He smirked sadly, shoving his hands inside his pockets. "The Doctor is in."

* * *

**Author's note from Sky:** I just want to start by saying that this was by far the most difficulty I've had with a chapter. There had to be a lot of emotion, and I _literally_ was not feeling it. At first. When I went back and wrote the scenes from the Doctor's POV, things got much better - even uncomfortably familiar. *nudges Ria and grins* Anyway, terribly sorry about the wait - I'm afraid that was my fault! I seem to be always a step or two... or _three_... behind my fantastic cowriter. *sigh*

**Author's note from Ria:** Aw, don't feel bad, hon! No life outside motherhood = abundant time for writing... Whew, what a ride this chapter was, and as the Doctor would say: just this once, everybody lives!

I had a lot of fun describing all those memories for Holmes, but my favourites are the ones of Mycroft during Sherlock's childhood, especially the last one. It feels very much like a crossroads moment, where Mycroft's fraternal qualities really come to the fore. Who knows? If he hadn't advised his younger brother not to let their father push him around, and choose his own path in life, Sherlock might even now be running the family estate. Now, _there_ would have been the ultimate tragedy... hmm... Don't run off, now – still two chapters to go!


	10. Chapter 9: A Time for Everything

**==Chapter Nine==**

**A Time for Everything**

_My life is spent in one long effort to escape from the commonplace of existence._

From what he had already seen of Juan's courage, Holmes wasn't surprised that the woman instantly agreed to the operation, even after the Doctor had outlined the risks involved. As might have been expected, though, Cheng Wei wasn't at all inclined to allow his wife to undergo the same process he had. After a few tense moments, Juan managed to convince her husband to resheathe his claws and let the Doctor up again, then dragged the bristling hybrid into a corner of the laboratory for a private 'discussion'. The glint in the woman's eye put Holmes strongly in mind of Mrs Watson, on the rare occasions when she and the detective had found themselves directly at odds regarding Watson's involvement in Holmes' cases – with or without speech, Cheng Wei clearly hadn't a chance of winning this argument.

Mercifully for everyone involved, the operation was a complete success. Just before dawn, Holmes and the Doctor stood at the end of the ravine, bidding a fond farewell to a pair of 'yetis': the larger's coarse fur silver as frost; the smaller's pelt much sleeker and the pearl grey of mountain mist. The Doctor had offered to take them to another world to live with others like themselves – the couple gratefully declined, however, conveying eloquently through look and gesture that they preferred to remain in their own homeland. Holmes really couldn't blame them, although he was greatly disappointed at not having an excuse to visit a new planet before he and the Doctor finally parted ways. Cheng Wei and Juan nosed affectionately at both of them, Juan's eyes as sorrowful as her husband's at having to say goodbye; then, as the rising sun began gilding the mountain peaks, the hybrids turned and bounded away on all fours up the mountain slope, side by side, until they were lost from view in the shadows.

Back in the laboratory, having hastily returned to the tunnel entrance with mere moments to spare, Holmes watched with the Doctor from the TARDIS doorway while the Time Lord reset his sonic screwdriver and pointed it at the roof of the passage. After several seconds of piercing noise, the ground began to shake with the impact of falling rocks as the entire tunnel ceiling caved in – no one else would ever reach this cavern without a cartload of explosives. The scientist was also aboard the TARDIS, still unconscious; the Doctor had placed the man in what he called a 'stasis unit' in the medbay for safety's sake, until they could get him back to the monastery. Holmes was hopeful that the monks would be willing to shelter the man, although how long that would last probably depended on how much the scientist remembered when he finally awoke... Whatever compassion the Doctor felt for the man obviously wasn't strong enough to prompt the Time Lord to link with his mind to find out for certain.

On arrival at the monastery, Holmes and the Doctor revisited the library; Shen Ji greeted them warmly, deeply thankful to have the borrowed manuscript returned intact, and agreed to help them obtain an audience with the senior monks. After a highly abridged account of recent events, the monks consented to give the man shelter, on condition that he be kept under close observation until his mental state could be determined. The scientist was given a plain room, well removed from the novices' dormitories, with one vital extra feature: a door that could be secured from the outside. The man regained consciousness a few hours later during midmorning prayers, stirring, then sitting bolt upright at a sudden clash of cymbals to find Holmes at his bedside. He stared at the detective, eyes wide in alarm – although the reason for that remained to be seen.

Holmes' grey eyes searched the man's brown ones, but found none of the dark fury that had burned in their depths last night, or even any hint of recognition. It was time to get some answers. "Calmly, my friend – you have had quite an ordeal," the detective smiled kindly, laying on his best Norwegian accent. "You are feeling better, I hope?"

The scientist's haggard face was a study in bewilderment. "I... what..." he murmured faintly, glancing around the sleeping cell. "Where...?" The accent was Dorset, Holmes noted wistfully, with the cultured tone of a Cambridge graduate.

The man's confusion was unmistakable, and in spite of the ongoing need for caution, Holmes couldn't help taking pity on him. "This is the Sera monastery, sir," he gently explained. "The monks have been caring for you since you were found in the snow." Better a half-truth than an outright lie... He offered the scientist a cup of water, which was gulped thirstily, before continuing: "Can you remember what happened?"

The man looked at Holmes blankly, brow furrowed. "Found... but... I don't... Who are you?" he asked abruptly.

Holmes bowed, still smiling. "Emil Sigerson of Norway, at your service, good sir. And you?" he inquired lightly.

"W-warwick," the scientist stammered. "Matthew Warwick... Professor of Physiology, Hampton College." The introduction flowed with the ease of frequent use, and more than a little pride – Warwick was clearly speaking the truth, as he knew it, at least.

"An honour to meet you, Professor Warwick," Holmes responded cordially and made himself extend a hand, trying for the moment to overlook the fact that the man had recently attempted to kill him and his companions. "What brings you to Tibet?"

Warwick's jaw dropped.

* * *

When the Doctor was alone, it was difficult to say what exactly he was thinking. Time Lord brains didn't function as human brains did, of course, and a lone Gallifreyan could be thinking about literally dozens of things all at once. (Human brains tried to do that, the Doctor knew, but they tended to make a hash of it.) So he was standing on the walkway of the perimeter wall, gazing down across the valley, mind full and empty at the same time.

That's where Holmes found him. The human leant on the parapet next to him and offered him one of two steaming cups. "Tea?"

The Doctor eyed the brew dubiously. "It's not yak butter, is it?" He'd had bad experiences with yak butter.

Holmes grinned and gave a theatrical shudder. "No, it's chai—you seemed in need of something calming."

The Doctor accepted the mug gratefully. "Oh, good, chai—I like chai." He inhaled the steam, then took a careful sip. "So, how did it go?"

Holmes sighed. "Well, that depends upon the point of view. The good news is that he truly seems to have no recollection of his…" He shivered genuinely, eyes haunted. "…possession. It took a little time for the rest of his memories to return, but they only extend to when he left Lhasa to travel here. Most likely, he was caught by the weather while climbing the pass and had to seek shelter…" His expression grew grave.

The Doctor shivered and lowered his face into his hand, sighing.

"Sadly, regaining one's memory means that one must accept the bad with the good… His name is Matthew Warwick; he graduated from Cambridge to take up a five-year tenure at Hampton College in Devonshire, furthering his studies in the field of physiology, researching the effects of modern medicine on the human body at a cellular level." Holmes sighed deeply. "The tragic irony is that his young wife was afflicted by tuberculosis… though that may have been his primary motive for choosing that field of study. In any case, she died after only three years of battling the disease."

The Doctor set down his mug, heart aching for the scientist, able to empathise a bit too deeply for his own comfort.

"After her death, Warwick became more determined than ever to discover the secrets of the human gene. He expanded his research to include alternate forms of medicine, which resulted in his early dismissal from Hampton—he was employing a few of the poorer students as test subjects for some of his more controversial theories. After narrowly avoiding prosecution, he left England to continue his research across Europe, then Asia, eventually arriving in Tibet. He had become intrigued on his travels by tales of Shangri-La, the fabled land of eternal youth. Such legends, he believed, must hold at least a grain of truth…"

The Doctor closed his eyes, sighing. "Too clever for his own good," he murmured, "and not clever enough…" He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes, dragged them down his face. "Ohhh, what a mess. What a human… Dalek… mixed-up mess…" Sighing again, he glanced back over his shoulder at the monastery. "Well, I can't think of a better set of people to help Warwick heal from it, though."

Holmes nodded solemnly. "And I had originally intended to remain another week…" He shrugged casually. "But a few more days' rest couldn't hurt." The Doctor snorted in agreement—the man really ought to give himself more rest than that, though the Time Lord knew he wouldn't. Holmes was too much like the Doctor for that.

The human frowned thoughtfully. "Doctor… that lantern I found in the wardrobe room…" His expression was a mixture of remorse and confusion. "When I shone it into Warwick's eyes, I'd hoped merely to blind him for a moment, but instead he screamed in agony, as if I had thrown acid in his face! What could have caused that? You said that the K'vir were vulnerable to sunlight, not electricity."

The Doctor frowned, not certain what Holmes was talking about. "Lantern… oh! The torch! Oh, well, it's got a solar battery—power of the sun in that torch." He grinned. "That one, in particular, is human-made." He picked his mug back up and took a sip.

Holmes raised an impressed eyebrow, then frowned again. "Doctor… the firearm that Warwick used last night… Pardon my curiosity, but that did _not_ look as if it been fashioned by any human." His tone turned grave again. "You have referred more than once to these 'Daleks,' in connection with the K'vir... Though the name does sound vaguely Polish, I would surmise that they too are from another planet? And that that was one of their weapons?"

The Doctor's grin faded completely, memories that he'd tried so hard to hold back resurfacing… Of the Dalek Emperor, of the Cult of Skaro, of Davros, the Time War, _Rose_… "The Daleks come from the planet Skaro… they _created_ the _K'vir_ to be one of their weapons during the Time War. The weapon the K'vir were using must have been... cannibalised... from a Dalek shell." He gave a slight, mirthless smile. "And created just keeps turning on the creator... At least you'll never have to meet any of them—they're gone now." All that death and destruction… the loss of his planet… his people… his family… the first woman he'd truly loved since the death of his wife… "All of them."

Holmes looked utterly appalled, and he had every right to be. The man wasn't even a soldier, couldn't wrap even his impressive mind around something so absolutely senseless… He sipped his tea, then said quietly, "And that, I hope, truly is the last humanity will ever see of the K'vir…" He gazed out over the valley, a fond smile stealing across his thin face.

"Mm…" The Doctor took a sip of his own tea and couldn't help smiling just a little at Holmes's expression, knowing the turn of his thoughts. "Cheng Wei and Juan are going to be brilliant together."

The detective nodded, still smiling. "Of that, Doctor, I have no doubt whatsoever." He gave a huff of laughter. "And I strongly suspect that there are going to be a few more folk tales in these parts about yetis from now on."

The Doctor grinned slightly. "Yeaaah." He sucked in a breath. "Betcha anything they'll be the new unofficial guardians of this place… help out travellers in trouble, that sort of thing. Which reminds me: how _did_ you find Cheng Wei in the first place?"

The tenor of Holmes's reply was… disturbingly casual. "Well, actually, I didn't; he found me, before I'd even gone a mile." His eyes shone briefly (there were few things more beautiful than true happiness in a person's expression) before he switched subjects. "Oh, Doctor, before I forget…" He dug his mobile (the _spare_ mobile, it wasn't really _his_, the Doctor had to remember) out of his parka and looked at it wistfully. "You'd best have this back."

The Doctor's smile again faded completely as Holmes handed him the phone. "Oh, right." It really hit him, then: this was it, Holmes was moving on with his life, the Doctor had to leave… He inhaled slowly and managed a slight smile for the man's benefit. "Thanks." He pushed the phone down into his pocket.

Holmes's answering smile was regretful—he didn't want to say goodbye, either, the Doctor supposed. Hoped. "Thank _you_, Doctor." He grinned in wonder. "This has been the most amazing adventure—I wouldn't have missed it for the world."

The Doctor smiled a little more fully again and murmured, "Neither would I. You were brilliant—are brilliant. And I don't just mean your mind." He reached out and gently clapped a hand on Holmes's thin shoulder. "You're just an amazing man, Sherlock Holmes."

The detective blushed and looked down. "Well," he murmured, "I've no doubt the same could be said for all your companions, Doctor…" His look turned chagrined as the Doctor's own smile tightened, and Holmes looked up apologetically.

The Doctor took a deep breath and nodded. "It's true." In the end, everyone left him, but he would not have missed one moment with any of those brilliant, wonderful people. "I only take the best."

"And I am deeply honoured to have been counted among them, my dear sir, if only for a short time."

The Doctor's eyes refocused on Holmes, desperate for a refuge from the loneliness that was already threatening to engulf him. "Come with me," he murmured. "Please."

Holmes shook his head, sighing. "You've no idea how tempting that offer is, Doctor—but, sadly, I must decline." The regret faded from his eyes (the Doctor could just _see_ his thoughts turning towards Watson). "I have pressing engagements elsewhere." He grinned wryly. "As you already know."

The Doctor looked down and nodded stiffly. "Right. Right. Well, then…" Then he had an idea—really, it was only stalling the inevitable, but still… He lifted his head slowly. "Fancy one last trip in the TARDIS? There's something I'd like you to see—call it a thank-you."

The already large grey eyes widened in surprise. Smiling broadly, Holmes gave an eager nod like a little boy anticipating a surprise (and, in all fairness, that was more or less what he was). "After you, Doctor."

The Doctor nodded back, stepping into the TARDIS and moving slowly over to the console. Holmes left his half-finished tea on the wall and followed him in. The TARDIS chirped happily at Holmes just before the Doctor threw down the lever and she _vwoorp-vwoooorped_ (he loved that sound so much) out of Tibet… only to rematerialise almost immediately. Smiling fondly, the Doctor nodded at the door. "Go on—open it."

Looking rather nervous, the detective descended the ramp, took a deep breath, and pulled open the door. His spare frame went absolutely rigid.

Beyond the doorway, Earth nearly filled the view, suspended in the void, glimmering blue and green and silver. The darkness stretched for an incalculable distance beyond it, the stars performing their ancient, silent dance across space.

The TARDIS beeped softly as the Doctor moved to join Holmes (the gaping mouth and stare didn't escape his notice upon arrival). He placed a hand on the doorframe and leant on it, murmuring, "Been a while since I've done this… Have to do it every now and then, just stop and step back and soak it all in… Home sweet home." The only one he had left… He tilted his head, glancing at Holmes. "Like it?"

Holmes nodded wordlessly, eyes fixed on his homeworld and glistening. "Thank you…"

The Doctor smiled and put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently. "Thank _you_, Sherlock." He smirked a little. "I couldn't just let you go off and get on with your life without seeing this." He glanced back out the doorway. "This is something everybody should get to see, or see _and_ appreciate…"

Holmes seemed to be able to tear his gaze away long enough to smile at the Doctor. "Indeed—though I have great difficulty fathoming how anyone could fail to appreciate such a wonder as this…" He turned back again, his gaze wistful as he took in the distant stars, and sighed deeply. "And… I think you had better return me to Tibet, Doctor—" he smiled ruefully—"before I succumb completely to temptation!"

The Doctor exhaled forcefully but nodded solemnly, turned, and moved back towards the console. "Better close the door." He was really going to miss Sherlock like crazy, he just knew it…

* * *

Even with the door closed, the magnificent vision of his home planet remained vividly before Holmes' eyes – of all the wonders he had witnessed recently, he knew that this would be the one he saw oftenest in his dreams. Astonishingly, one of the most breathtaking aspects had been the colours! No modern globe or atlas that he'd ever seen had prepared Holmes for such rich, vibrant hues of blue and green, the snow-white clouds a delicate filigree, wrapped around the Earth like a shawl of finest lace... To his acute disappointment, Great Britain had been mostly obscured – understandable, however, being midwinter. He hoped that Watson's old injuries weren't plaguing him too greatly with the growing cold. And the stars... Just to see so many hundreds of thousands all together, burning steadily in the frozen night, and only the Doctor knew how many were warming other planets that also teemed with life... so far away, yet with the TARDIS, close enough to touch...

The thump of the TARDIS landing once more jolted Holmes from his rapt musings. Swallowing the persistent lump in his throat, he turned away from the door as a mournful flurry of beeps and whistles came from the console, smiling sadly up at the central column in sincere regret. "As I shall miss you, dear lady; it has truly been an honour." He bowed deeply for the last time, closing his eyes for a moment to send the earnest thought as clearly as he was able: _Look after him._

She answered with a reassuring chirp. _Always..._

Holmes took one final, lingering look around the control room, then steeled himself to open the door and step outside again, noting approvingly that they had landed back in the exact same place. He turned back to the TARDIS to find the Doctor hadn't followed him out, but was standing awkwardly in the open doorway – the Time Lord's pained expression spoke volumes. The detective nodded in understanding, then paused. "Doctor... you could stay awhile," he suggested softly. "Considering the life you normally lead, I imagine the universe owes you at least a few decades off."

Now it was the Doctor's turn to look tempted, closing his eyes briefly; Holmes could see plainly the combined fear and longing in their depths when he reopened them. "I can't," his colleague admitted quietly. "It's really the other way around, you know – I'm still paying off my debts..." He smiled tightly, one long-fingered hand clutching the door frame hard enough to whiten the knuckles. "No rest for the wicked."

Holmes was unable to suppress a faint wince at the familiar phrase – he remembered Watson wryly uttering those very words as he returned to Meiringen... The detective had failed in exorcising the ghosts from his past often enough to understand the Time Lord's need to remain a step ahead of his own memories, terrified that stopping even for a moment would allow them to break through all of those carefully constructed defenses...

The Doctor had clearly noticed his reaction, if not entirely understood it, because the next moment he had moved forward and wrapped his arms lightly around Holmes' shoulders. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I wish I could stay – I really do. And if you ever need me..." He sighed. "Just think of me. An idea is the most powerful thing in the universe – and it _will_ cross Time and Space, I promise."

The detective returned the hug gratefully, much taken with the sentiment – especially as it too sounded exactly like something his best friend would say. "I stand by what I said before, Doctor: you and Watson really do have a great deal in common." He looked the Doctor straight in the eye, a stubborn gleam in his, half-daring the Time Lord to argue.

The Doctor's eyes became suspiciously moist, glancing down as he expelled a forceful breath. "Thank you..." he murmured thickly, the lump in his throat audible.

Holmes silently clasped his colleague's shoulder, then chuckled at another sudden thought, shaking his head. "Although how on earth I am going to tell Watson about any of this...! He'd probably think I had gone mad, or been using the cocaine a little too freely. The supernatural isn't normally a field in which I would place any credence."

The Doctor smiled a little, in spite of himself. "'No ghosts need apply,' eh?"

Holmes gave a silent huff of laughter. "Precisely – although I suspect that I may be a shade more tolerant of Watson's love of scientific romances in future."

The Doctor's smile turned apologetic. "I'd let you take away something from the TARDIS, if I wasn't afraid of it messing around with the course of history."

The detective tensed, colouring, abruptly reminded of a matter he should have recalled a good deal sooner. "Well, actually, Doctor..." He drew a sheet of paper from his coat pocket and unfolded it. "I have been meaning to mention..."

The Time Lord's eyes went round, mouth falling open as he instantly recognised the document: a page torn from his copy of 'Sherlock Holmes for Dummies', a page that just so happened to contain a complete list of Watson's published cases. "Sherlock Holmes...!" he spluttered. "But... you can't do that! It's... You can't know your own future like that!"

Holmes met the Doctor's appalled look with one of mild pleading. "You would not begrudge me this, Doctor? It is only the titles – an ambiguous oracle, at best." He looked his colleague squarely in the eye. "I took great care not to look further into the volume. I shall burn this page once I have committed it to memory, I promise."

The Doctor groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Ohhh... Fine," he sighed at last in exasperation. "But if you break something, you're putting it back together yourself, understand?"

Holmes nodded solemnly, relieved. "I would not have expected anything else, Doctor; you have enough to worry about, as it is." He cocked his head, regarding the Doctor thoughtfully. "I would ask if we shall ever meet again – but somehow I doubt you'd tell me, even if you could..." His lips twitched. "And, oddly enough, I find I actually prefer not to know." There were sundry benefits to uncertainty, after all.

A very faint smile returned to the Doctor's face. "I'd like to see you again, someday, when you're back home with Watson."

"Then by all means, Doctor," Holmes responded warmly, "consider yourself invited." The Doctor turned reluctantly away, nodding in silent farewell. Holmes stepped back a little further from the TARDIS, echoing the nod. "Until we meet again, my friend – travel well." He grinned. "I would say 'Travel safely', but I wouldn't want to get the Eyebrow."

The Doctor flashed the ghost of a grin over his shoulder as he stepped back into the TARDIS. "I will – travel well, I mean. I always travel well."

The door closed, and a few seconds later, the lantern on the roof started pulsing with blue light, the wheezing groans that sounded during every flight filling the air. Holmes watched in rapt fascination as the TARDIS began to fade in quite a spectral fashion, rapidly becoming more and more insubstantial, the noise also gradually dying away – until finally, there was nothing in front of the detective but a square outline in the snow on the walkway, the only sound from the whistling mountain wind and the distant chanting of the monks at their prayers.

Holmes drew a deep breath, letting it out in a long sigh. "Godspeed, Doctor," he murmured fondly to the empty air, then turned to descend the steps to the courtyard, refolding the pilfered sheet and carefully returning it to his pocket. He wouldn't need to study it for long before burning it – at least half of the cases on that list had already happened...


	11. Epilogue: A Never-ending Adventure

**==Epilogue==**

**A Never-ending Adventure**

_You'll come with me to-night?_

_When you like and where you like._

_Two years later..._

_Wednesday, November 20th, 1895._

Watson looked up from the scrawl-filled page of his notebook and parted the curtains for the hundredth time, staring in frustration at the dense yellow fog which stubbornly hung over London. It was several weeks since Holmes had last had a case, numerous petty thefts apparently not being in the least worthy of his attention. Admittedly, despite being mostly confined to the house due to the weather, the detective had conducted himself with commendable restraint thus far, initially occupying himself by updating his scrapbooks (paper snippets still coated the floor in a premature blizzard, which Watson was determined that _Holmes_ should deal with, despite Mrs Hudson's increasingly pointed looks at the pair of them!). And the last forty-eight hours had been spent mainly in the study of his most recent interest, music in the Middle Ages.

Now, however, after three straight days of this infernal fog, Watson could see the restless look beginning to return to the detective's eyes: a look which always spelt trouble for someone, generally Holmes himself in the form of a syringe. Watson had yet to catch his friend glancing wistfully at the desk drawer, but it was only a matter of time, unless some suitable diversion could present itself in short order. The doctor leaned back in his chair with a sigh, and let his gaze wander around the cluttered yet cosy sitting room, where they had been comfortably ensconced most of the evening. Thankfully for his injured leg and Holmes' disposition, their landlady was more than happy to keep them well-supplied with coal on such a night! He pitied anyone having to be out in these conditions...

All at once, an odd noise began, low at first, but rapidly rising in volume, the strangest sound that Watson had ever heard: a wheezing, groaning, grinding sort of noise that had an almost unearthly quality to it. What the devil...? Had Mrs Hudson gone and invested in one of those newfangled carpet sweepers? His startled thoughts were interrupted by the thud of Holmes' history volume hitting the floor as the man leapt from his armchair as if electrified, eyes shining with a light that Watson had never seen in them before, glancing wildly around the room, all but trembling with excitement. Before an astounded Watson could react, the noise began to fade away again, as swiftly as it had arisen... and the doctor was dismayed to see Holmes sagging dejectedly where he stood, like a puppet whose strings had suddenly been cut, his expression filled with profoundest disappointment.

Deeply concerned, and not a little bewildered, Watson rose from his desk, turning to lay down his notebook; but just then, his eye was caught by a glimmer of blue light from outside the window. Curiously, he twitched the curtains further aside to discover the source... and his anxiety at Holmes' sudden depression was overwhelmed by further mystification at the sight which greeted him. "Holmes?" he called quietly, still staring down into the mist-shrouded street. "Has Lestrade mentioned any new measures put in place by Scotland Yard?"

"Not recently," Holmes' voice came back, still worryingly dismal. "Why d'you ask?"

Watson looked back over his shoulder, his deep puzzlement no doubt written clearly on his face. "Because there's some kind of blue booth across the street, with the words 'Police Public Call Box' at the top of it!" The doctor had hoped for some kind of reaction – after all, this did seem to be an excellent chance to divert his melancholy friend – but he certainly hadn't expected Holmes' face to light up with the very same rapt expression it had only a minute earlier. His eyes narrowed as a vague but strong suspicion began to take hold. "Holmes? Do you know something about this?"

Holmes laughed in delight, all but rubbing his hands together, spirits obviously entirely restored. "That, my dear fellow, would be putting it mildly! Come, Watson!" And the next instant, Watson was astonished to see the detective leaping over the back of the sofa in his impatience to reach the door, flinging it open and dashing down the stairs, two at a time from the sound of things. Shaking his head in combined amusement and growing misgiving, Watson grabbed his discarded jacket off the back of his chair, shrugging into it as he followed after Holmes...

**To Be Continued... **

**in Episode Two: "Men of England"**

* * *

**Author's note from Ria:**

Well, folks, we hope you've enjoyed this adventure! Please stay tuned, as there's plenty more where that came from, especially now that Watson's on the team. Speaking of the good doctor... one of the many interesting elements of this series is that the job of writing Watson's action and dialogue gets passed back and forth between us while roleplaying out the various scenes, depending on who else is with him at the time. Let us know if you can spot the difference, or if we've done a good enough job of getting inside each other's heads to keep him consistent!

**Author's note from Sky:**

I'm curious about that, too! Well, once again, I must apologize: I'm always the one lagging behind in writing out my assigned scenes, and I am very sorry for making you all wait! And... oh boy, oh boy, do we _ever_ have _so_ much more in store! It's gonna be one long, wild ride... (For the occasional extra, btw, you can check out my Tumblr, astudyinsherlockiana - I do post stuff about this series from time to time, usually under the tag "Children of Time" or "Wholmes".) Now, as the Doctor is so fond of crying, "_Allons-y!_"


End file.
